Long Road Home
by Myenzie
Summary: Harry is devastated after the incidents at the Department of Mysteries, and embarks on a long journey emotionally, mentally and magically to find his true place in the world. Angst, Death, Adventure and Romance starting before the sixth year and on.
1. Prologue

A Long Way Home

Prologue

The drive home from King's Cross was extraordinary for the black-haired youth in the back seat, mostly because, to an outsider, it would seem thoroughly unremarkable. The large man behind the wheel wasn't saying anything rude, he wasn't belittling that self same young man, and he wasn't fuming verbally at the "unnaturalness" of the send-off that Harry Potter had gotten from his friends, or the barely veiled threat that he had received. It was only by the striking puce color of his uncle's neck that Harry Potter could tell that the conversation had not gone over at all well with Uncle Vernon.

Aunt Petunia seemed rattled, as well: she peered through the wind screen with an intensity that ought to have melted the glass, darting nervous looks back toward her nephew every few moments. And Harry's cousin Dudley seemed completely cowed – he had shrunken into the other side of their shared seat (at least as much as his bulk would allow), leaving fully half the rear space for Harry – a first ever!

Harry felt grateful for those parting moments and the genuine concern, and love, he had felt. He knew that he was going into his annual exile without any real hope of a kind word or touch or expression until he was rescued from his suburban prison by members of the Order of the Phoenix. His sadness at the loss of Sirius, his beloved godfather, lingered, together with guilt for having led the ill-fated expedition into the Department of Mysteries and anger with the Headmaster of his school, the vaunted Albus Dumbledore, for having left him in the situation that led to that foolish endeavour.

Harry stared morosely out the window of the car, paying little attention to his relatives, and less still to the passing scenery, eventually drifting off into a fitful slumber. He was roused only by the bump and sway of the automobile as it turned into the drive in front of Number 4, Privet Drive. Pulling himself out of the new BMW and moving to the boot at the rear of the car, which his Uncle had sprung from the remote latch in the interior, he pulled his trunk and his owl's cage out. Closing the boot, he turned and carried the items to the front door, which had been left ajar by the other former occupants of the car. He nudged the door shut and dragged his possessions up the stairs and into the smallest bedroom, his cell for the first part of summer holidays.

Molly Weasley was in a snit. Her children had been hurt in the foray into the Ministry, but she had only just extracted the full story out of them. They had been reluctant to tell her any of the details, but she had finally told them they wouldn't be going anywhere, or doing anything other than chores, until she knew the truth.

Although Ron and Ginny had gone off with Harry willingly, and had, in fact, insisted on going with him, Harry should have known better. He should not have left Hogwarts and should not have risked her children's lives. Though she really cared for the boy, Harry had just gone too far and had to understand that he had to act more responsibly. And so Molly did what she normally did when angry: she shouted. In this case, via Owl post, through a "howler," but it was unmistakably shouting. At the last moment, though, Molly almost didn't send the missive on its way, worrying about how he would take it. Finally, though, she shoved her doubts aside and sent the message on its way.

The first few days at Privet Drive had been, for want of a better word, _boring_. Harry had dutifully trudged down the stairs and gone to the kitchen when called for meals. He had sent a letter three days after arriving, informing the Order that he was being treated well, something which was, surprisingly, true.

The day before, he had grown sufficiently restless that, when not presented with a list of chores, he mowed and trimmed and raked the front and the back yards, spiffing them up nicely. In fact, his Aunt Petunia, upon seeing him willingly working, had brought a glass of lemonade as he finished up with some mowing, and he had actually been grateful when he had thanked her!

The work had actually been a blessing, as it took his mind off of the trip to the Ministry, the battle in the Department of Mysteries. During those hours, he didn't think of Ron screaming with the brain-thing attacking him, or Hermione lying there unresponsive after that horrible curse, or of the shouts and spell fire, or of being possessed by Voldemort, or most especially of Sirius falling through the veil to his death. No, those thoughts were reserved now for the quiet hours after dark when he would try, and fail, to secure more than a couple of fitful hours sleep.

This morning, though, had not gone nearly as well as the preceding ones. Only four days into his sojourn at Number Four, he had received a howler from, of all people, Mrs. Weasley. To Harry, Mrs. Weasley was the epitome of what a true Mum ought to be – caring, loving and fiercely protective of her children. And she had, on more than one occasion, gone so far as to tell Harry that he was as good as a member of their family – that she thought of him as if he were one of her own.

He was entirely dissuaded from that opinion, however, when he heard the contents of her howler. She had shrieked at him for being foolish enough to run off to the Ministry, for endangering her children, for not leaving things in the hands of the adults who had the responsibility of taking care of him and the other _children_. She had blamed all of the injuries suffered by Harry's friends on Harry, and intimated that Sirus' death was on Harry's head as well. Vernon's comment, of course, that Harry's friends had finally seen the truth about him being "nothing but trouble" didn't help and even, unfortunately, rang quite true in Harry's mind.

Harry was accustomed to being yelled at. And although he didn't really _believe_ it, he couldn't help but _feel_ that he deserved it – that he really was a worthless freak, wholly undeserving of being loved or cared about. He already knew that he was to blame for his friends' injuries and his Godfather's death, and the overwhelming guilt he had been fighting off washed over him. He flew (almost literally) up the stairs and into his room, burying his head beneath his pillow, and sobbed himself into an exhausted sleep.

After Harry had run out of the kitchen after that absolutely horrible, shouting letter, Vernon looked at Petunia and said firmly, "I told you he is nothing but trouble and will only bring more trouble to us! We must rid ourselves of him – you said so yourself before he returned. It doesn't matter that he's been less of a bother for the last couple of days. We have to do it!"

Petunia looked down at the table top in front of her, closed her eyes and muttered a silent prayer that her sister would forgive her. And then she nodded her head slightly to her husband, signaling agreement.


	2. Summer Doldrums

Chapter 1: Summer Doldrums And Days of Terror

_In which life redefines itself._

Oddly, Harry felt refreshed when he woke. After his conversation with Dumbledore at the end of the last term, he had slept no more than a few hours in any given night, and had taken to rising quite early each morning, whether at Hogwarts or, subsequently, Privet Drive. His sleep hadn't been interrupted by visions of Voldemort, or by the stabbing pains and odd flights of emotion he felt through his scar connection. Rather, he had relived Sirius' death in excruciating detail over and over again. And, as if that wasn't enough, he'd also found new, inventive, and rather gruesome ways for his friends to meet their Maker in his dreams as well, blending bits of past visions with his own vivid imagination. No, he had not been sleeping at all well, and so he was less exhausted than he'd been in days.

He fumbled for his glasses, and looked over to the table by his bedside. The cheap alarm clock indicated that it was just past 6:00 in the evening, so he had in fact had the longest, uninterrupted sleep he'd seen in several weeks. He pulled himself off the bed, crossed to his door and opened it. Seeing no one about, he crossed the hallway and entered the loo. After freshening himself up, he decided to pluck up his courage and head down stairs, assuming that he would hear no end of grief for both the letter and his subsequent melt down.

Hearing the television in the lounge, he headed towards the kitchen. Steeling himself, he pushed open the door and saw his Aunt at the counter, obviously working on the final stages of preparing their supper. She offered him the most gracious welcome he had ever received from a Dursley -- she ignored him. Crossing the distance between them, Harry opened a drawer and removed silverware, and asked, "Shall I set the table in the dining room or the kitchen this evening, Aunt Petunia?"

Then Petunia did something that truly gave Harry pause. She didn't berate him, or shout, or adopt her normal demeanor around him, affecting a look like something rather too ripe or rancid had entered the room. Instead, she smiled ever so slightly, looked him in the eye, and inquired, "Alright, then?"

Flabbergasted, he merely nodded.

"The kitchen is fine this evening, Harry," she said.

He crossed to the kitchen table and, before setting the places, looked at her. He, too, smiled a little, and said simply, "Thanks."

Dinner was quiet. Uncle Vernon merely nodded at Harry when Harry called him and Dudley in to eat. He was even polite to Harry, asking him to pass more potatoes, saying please, and going so far as to call Harry "Harry" rather than "boy" or something worse. It was all very odd, but it almost felt like he might _belong_ for once.

Summer quickly settled into a fair routine.

Harry had written one or more Order members at least every three days, reporting diligently that all was well and that he wasn't having any problems this summer at the Dursley's. He'd even commented on how they seemed to be treating him a little more nicely than usual in some of the letters.

He hadn't responded immediately to Mrs. Weasley, at least not directly. His first letter after the howler had been to Ron, and he'd been sure to express remorse in it over the mission to the Ministry. He'd also apologized to Ron for Ron's injuries, and expressed sadness over Ginny's ankle.

When the time came to write to Mrs. Weasley, which he knew he should do though he'd not written her ever before, he spent a goodly amount of time working and reworking what he had to say before committing it to a final form.

_Mrs. Weasley,_

_I'm sorry it's taken me a while to respond to your last letter. You deserve a better apology than I could ever deliver, but I wanted to at least find a way to properly say what needs to be said._

_I was wrong. I was wrong in not learning Occlumency, because if I had I would never have seen the false visions that You Know Who planted in my head._

_I was wrong for rushing off to the Ministry, when I should have counted on Professor Snape to ensure Sirus' safety._

_I was wrong for taking Ron and Ginny and all the rest with me, for involving them in such a stupid and hazardous undertaking._

_This whole experience has, indeed, taught me a lesson. The results of my folly led my best friends, the people I care about most in the whole world, into a trap. They were injured because of me, and could have died because of me, and I will never forget that. Sirius did die because of me._

_I know I have disappointed you and surely Mr. Weasley as well, and for that I am truly sorry._

_I only hope that you can believe me when I say that I value the kindness you and your family have shown me more than anything else in the world. You have shown me what a real family is like, and have let me see the real power of love, and for that I shall be eternally in your debt._

_Please know that I have learned my lesson. I promise that I won't abuse your children's friendship again. I will do all I can to keep them safe, so that no part of what you saw of that Bogart last year becomes a reality._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

He hadn't heard back, so assumed, or at least fooled himself into believing, that his letter had been well received.

Harry wrote, as well, to each of the others who had accompanied him to the Ministry. All of them responded, in kind, telling him not to worry or that apologies weren't required, and expressing friendship. For that he was truly thankful.

Despite the mutual enmity between them, Harry had penned a letter to Severus Snape. He had, upon reflection, realized that he owed the man an apology, and thought it best to stand up and do what was right, despite his conviction that Snape would never act that way towards him.

_Professor Snape,_

_I recognize that I have never written you in the past and realize that you most likely at this point wish I had not now decided to do so. Nevertheless, I have thought long and hard about my actions last term, and realize now more than ever that I owe you an apology._

_It was wrong of me to take the liberty of looking at your memories, and it was wrong to not trust that you would act on my warning about Sirius. Indeed, I should have trusted you and sought your help rather than acting rashly by trying to contact Sirius._

_As you know, my foolhardiness has cost me dearly._

_Lest you think that this apology is an attempt to get into your better graces, even I am not so foolhardy as to think you could be so influenced. I mean what I say here Professor: I am sorry._

_Yours truly,_

_Harry James Potter_

He didn't get a response and didn't know whether Snape had even read his letter instead of binning it. However, he felt better for having done the right thing, and thought it good to own up to his mistakes and take responsibility for his own actions.

Harry had also corresponded with Dumbledore. That letter had not been has hard to write as the one to Molly Weasley, but had still been a bit difficult.

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_There are a lot of things that I need to say to you, now that the events of last term have finally and properly settled in my mind._

_Firstly, I am sorry. For leaving school, for not studying Occlumency as diligently as you would have expected from me, for not trusting that Professor Snape would act on the information we gave him and instead rushing off on a fool's errand, and for shouting at you and destroying your office._

_Mostly, I am sorry for disappointing you so. I haven't had a lot of adults in my life who had any faith in me, and I have let you and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley down, and for that I am truly sorry._

_I hope that I can regain your trust, and promise to try to be less impulsive and more diligent. I only pray that you will allow me another chance._

_Even after all of your help, I find myself in the position of asking yet another favor. Although I've not had any visions, nor even noted any odd twinges from my scar, I think that still it would be in my, in our, best interests if I were to learn Occlumency. I couldn't find any books in the library, and, as you know, am rather limited now in my movements. Is there a text that might help me in mastering this skill, and maybe in understanding Legimency as well?_

_I haven't much to keep me occupied this summer, as I'm sure you can imagine, and would also like to make progress in my studies in other areas that might benefit me in the future. If there are other books you might suggest that I study, I would welcome them as well._

_I would be happy to borrow or buy the books, as the cost doesn't matter. If you need to arrange the purchase of them for me, or can suggest how I might buy anything you recommend, I would be most appreciative._

_Thank you, Professor, for the assistance you have given me over the years, and for whatever you can do now to help me._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

The response Harry had received had not been what he had expected. Fawkes had appeared over his bed late one evening in a flash of flames, swooped around the room once and settled onto the perch next to Hedwig, a letter affixed to his leg. Harry had removed the letter, and read the brief missive:

_Harry,_

_I received your letter earlier today, and feel there are many things we ought to discuss in person. Indeed, your letter precipitates a conversation earlier than I had planned, but one I knew we must have in any event._

_Please, though, dear boy, do not think that I am angry or in any way disappointed in you. As I said when last we spoke, I only hope you can forgive this old man his mistakes._

_I am immensely proud of you, Harry, and accept your apologies, though I do not truly deserve them._

_Can we meet at 2:00 tomorrow afternoon, at Mrs. Figg's? She has promised some tea and biscuits, and I think a conversation would allow us to take care of a number of matters that concern us both._

_Thank you, Harry._

_Albus Dumbledore_

Oddly enough, the letter hadn't been on the more formal parchment that Harry was accustomed to receiving from Dumbledore; rather, it was on a simpler, off-white sheet with a soft gold border, and only the headmaster's name emblazoned across the top; it was obviously a personal rather than official stationary, and somehow that made Harry feel a little better.

Fawkes had not left immediately. Instead, he seemed to hunker down a bit next to Hedwig, and closed his eyes. Harry stripped of his clothes to prepare for bed, and opened the window granting Hedwig opportunity to fly and hunt and do whatever owls did under the light of the moon. (He only hoped that it wouldn't involve a nest of little owlets, as he had no idea how he would deal with _that_ problem.)

After he put his glasses on the wretched little table next to his bed, Harry closed his eyes. Shortly, he heard the opening, soft trills of Phoenix Song, and found himself unable to move or try to silence the beautiful bird. He had a fleeting thought of hope that the Dursleys wouldn't interrupt, or explode, or anything, and then quickly drifted off into the kingdom of Nod.

The next morning, Harry woke up more rested and calmer than usual. Both Fawkes and Hedwig had flown the coop over the night, and the outside sky was barely lit.

As he had started doing shortly after the howler form Mrs. Weasley, Harry pulled on some shorts, one of Dudley's less obnoxious shirts and his trainers, and headed downstairs. The Dursleys, as always, slept on. Noting that it was slightly before six in the morning, he let himself out of the front door, being sure to leave the lock unengaged so that he could gain re-entry.

He walked down the path, along the drive and to the street, gravel crunching quietly beneath his feet. He wondered briefly who was on "duty" that morning, minding him and the house, but didn't concern himself too much over it. Once at the street he walked for a couple of minutes and then started jogging at a fair pace toward the park.

He had found the morning workouts to be helpful, as they let him stretch his legs and clear the cobwebs a bit before the Dursleys awoke and he began his daily ritual. Running for a short while let him think a bit as he felt the need, but more often than not he found it a useful tool for clearing the mind of the thoughts that plagued him when he was inactive. And he found that the activity seemed to be helping a bit with his general feelings, so much so that he'd taken to the type of exercise one might perform without equipment or making undue noise in the solitude of his room, each evening before he retired. As a result, he found he seemed to be developing a little muscle, and was not at all displeased.

One unexpected facet of his morning runs was that he felt less the pariah in the neighborhood. As he jogged about, he invariably ran past one of the few others also out and about and exercising at the hour. Oddly, the camaraderie of a shared interest in exercise had seemed to outweigh both the oversized attire he'd inherited from Dudley, and the revulsion and/or fear most people exhibited when recalling his supposed attendance at the school for juvenile delinquents his Uncle Vernon had invented for him. People actually nodded or waved or, on occasion even smiled or said "hello" to him as they passed.

After the run, Harry slipped back into the house and stopped off for a moment in his room. He heard faint stirring, indicating that his Aunt was getting moving. Grabbing fresh clothes, he went into the bathroom and quickly showered. When ready, he headed downstairs and started the tea for his Aunt and cousin, and the coffee for Uncle Vernon (who had apparently developed a taste for the stuff during Harry's absence over the last term). Feeling in a remarkably good mood, considering his upcoming meeting with Dumbledore that afternoon, Harry decided to pull out all the stops in his preparation of breakfast.

In years past, Harry had done most of the work of preparing breakfast under the watchful (and overly picky) eye of his Aunt Petunia. This year, as in so many other ways, had been different, and he had helped and worked with her, but hadn't been called upon to act the house elf and do all the work. This morning, though, Harry started pulling out all he need for a full English breakfast, and when his Aunt descended the stairs, he gently steered her to a seat at the table, saying "Let me get it this morning, OK, Aunt Petunia?"

Though a bit surprised, she had nodded, and smiled, and said words he'd scarcely ever heard on Privet Drive: "Why, thank you, Harry."

After breakfast had been served and consumed, Harry rose to clear the table, and Vernon complemented him, "Thanks Harry, that was delicious."

Harry didn't know what to say, or think. His Aunt had been nice, his Uncle complimentary, and Dudley hadn't insulted him or shoved him or even made a disgusting noise, and for a moment Harry enjoyed the illusion that he lived with a functional family that actually _liked_ him, and muttered a quiet "thanks" to his Uncle.

After cleaning up, Harry went out to the garden and did the trimming, weeding and watering that was on his list of chores for the day, and then retired to his room, where he pulled out one of the numerous defense books he'd been gifted over the years and resumed reading the chapter on shields and obstacles.

When Harry finished his lunch, he cleared the table to the dishwasher and headed upstairs. After a few minutes looking through his things, he selected some clean, if oversized and somewhat threadbare, attire and changed. Looking in the mirror, he thought for not the first time that he wished he had the chance to be more normal and get his own clothing that fit and didn't make him look and feel like he was wearing a circus tent. As he stood there, he thought of how much better this summer had been, really,

and that all things considered, clothing wasn't that important.

Walking down the stairs, Harry called out to his Aunt (who was the only other person at home) that he was going to Mrs. Figg's house, and heard a muffled response from behind the kitchen door that he should return before dinner.

Upon arriving at his destination, Harry knocked on the door. Mrs. Figg opened the door and stood back and to one side. Once Harry had entered, she closed the door and Harry turned to her and said, " I never got a chance to thank you for last year, but it sure helped, and it meant a lot to me that you not only supported me at the trial but also were looking out for me for all those years. Thank you." And Harry reached out and hugged her, surprising both of them.

A moment later, they pulled apart, and Harry turned to face his headmaster. Dumbledore looked at Harry over the top of his glasses and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Mrs. Figg gestured at the tea service and biscuits on the table and said, "Well, I've a few errands to run, so I suppose I'd best be off and leave you two to your business. Harry, lad, I expect you'll be gone by the time I return, but please do pay a visit when you have a chance." Harry inclined his head toward her and gave a brief nod, and she was off.

Harry and Dumbledore discussed a great many things that afternoon. Harry learned that Sirius had named him sole beneficiary, and that not only had his own vault at Gringott's been substantially augmented, but that he was the proud owner of a dilapidated mansion in London (located at Number 12 Grimauld Place) and master of a surly and fairly smelly house elf. Kreacher had been sent to live and work at Hogwarts, though Harry felt quite guilty for inflicting him on the other house elves and residents of the castle.

He learned that the Order no longer used Number 12 as a headquarters, having moved out hurriedly when Sirius passed on, as at first they didn't know whether someone like Narcissa Malfoy might have come into ownership. Kreacher's obedience to Harry proved that Sirius had been correct in thinking he could leave everything to Harry, but Dumbledore told him that the new Headquarters would still be used, despite the fact that Grimauld Place remained safe and secret.

Dumbledore explained that the necessary changes to the protections at the Burrow were ongoing. When Harry expressed concern that he didn't wish the Weasleys to go to such trouble just on account of him, the headmaster assured him that the improvements would have long lasting, beneficial effects for the Weasleys as well, and so they would likely proceed with them, given the coming war, even if Harry were not to visit. Harry's guilt was at least partially assuaged.

Lastly, Dumbledore handed two books over to Harry, saying that they came form his personal library and that Harry was welcome to keep them through the summer if he wished. Both were remarkably thin volumes, and Harry supposed that the book entitled _Mind Magiks: The Offense and Defense of the Mind_ was intended to help him along in understanding occlumency and legilimency, The second book was equally intriguing, and Harry couldn't wait to absorb _Practical Power: Using Your Natural Magical Abilities_. Professor Dumbledore had suggested, quite strongly, that Harry might benefit most by reading the two books in conjunction with one another, rather than sequentially, and Harry had readily agreed that he would do so.

Head spinning, Harry bid farewell to his headmaster a couple of hours later. Mrs. Figg hadn't returned, so Harry left Dumbledore preparing to use her floo, and headed home.

Over the next several days, Harry started to absorb and put into practice some part of the books Dumbledore had lent him.

From _Mind Magiks_, Harry learned some of the theory of throwing himself into another's mind, and some of the ways of restricting access to your own mind. The book indicated that the way to properly clear one's mind for occlumency was to establish a mental quiet place that allowed a feeling of calm and control to assert itself over the emotions that a legilmens would use to look for memories. Given Harry's enjoyment of flying, he pictured himself breezing through the air on invisible wings, high above the ground (and his troubles). Remarkably quickly, he found that the calm feeling lasted for long after the meditation, and even started to feel that his thoughts were more ordered as his calmer mental state allowed him to absorb the meaning of the books more readily and to even remember the concepts more clearly.

_Practical Power_ was even more fascinating. The first chapter delved into the base concepts of magical power, explaining that magical beings differed from non-magical only in the fact that they possessed a sufficient level of magic within themselves to use it to influence outside objects. In order to control magic, one had to find a way to force it to do one's bidding, bending it to meet the intent of the caster and focusing it on the intended object.

The book said that Wizard use of incantations was a way of forcing the shaping of the magic to achieve a specific and fairly uniform result, and triggering the intent through memorization. Similarly, wands provide the needed focus while playing a minor role in shaping and triggering the intent.

Since intent was really in the mind of the person casting the spell, magic could be done wordlessly (though few had the presence of mind to become very adept at it) or even without thinking of the incantation at all but merely by exercise of will power alone.

Similarly, magic could be done wandlessly by those who could bring focus and concentration without use of the tool. Most found this even harder than wordless or silent casting, the book noted, but some wizards and witches could do at least some spells without a wand.

Most importantly, the _Power_ book recommended that practitioners obtain a clarity of mind that Harry seemed to be working on anyway as he tried to do his meditation and occlumency practice.

The first time Harry tried some of the lessons gleaned from the _Power_ book, he worried greatly about getting a reprimand from the Ministry of Magic. However, his desire to put the learning to some practical effect overrode his concern. Trying to be careful, though, he decided to try a very simple spell that he could argue was accidental, and so chose to simply try to force an object to levitate without wand or word.

His first success occurred after only a few days, and then only immediately after one of his mental "flying sessions," when he felt most focused and relaxed. Unfortunately, the glass dropped almost immediately back to the desk top, spilling the water inside, when he became excited at his success and lost his concentration.

Harry was elated when he received no Ministry warning via owl.

Days passed, and not much happened, outside normal or otherwise.

Harry had made some small improvements in his wandless and wordless magic, though he didn't push it too far, being afraid that doing too much might get him in trouble. However, he had been quite satisfied when he cleaned the entire bathroom with a thought and wave of his hand. He had considered explaining it away as accidental by showing a picture of his cousin and asking Malfalda Hopkirk whether she would want to clean a bathroom after Dudley had finished using it, but nothing in the way of warning or reprimand came of the spell and Harry floated on air for the rest of the day.

The mail had brought news of life at the Weasley house. Ginny and Dean seemed to be getting along well, visiting each other via floo every day or two. Ginny seemed very happy in her letters and was enjoying her visits amongst the muggles. Ron wasn't nearly as happy about the situation, but said in his letters he was steering clear of the whole thing after Ginny had threatened him with her Bat Bogey hex. Harry wasn't sure why he felt restless and as if suffering a bit from heartburn when he heard about Ginny's summer, but dismissed it easily enough.

The bombshell had been that Hermione's parents had invited Ron along on their family vacation to the south of France, and Ron had accepted. Both Ron and Hermione had apologized to Harry that he couldn't come, but Harry had written them back saying they had nothing to apologize for. He had admitted that he was a bit envious over the fun they were going to have, but pointed out the pile of guilt he'd feel if they couldn't have fun because he was trapped at Privet Drive.

In fact, Harry went so far in his separate letters to both Ron and Hermione asking whether they had "gotten together" yet. Ron somehow managed to seem embarrassed in his reply, but had inquired whether Harry would mind if they did (Harry naturally said he wouldn't). Hermione had pointedly ignored the question.

The morning of the twenty-sixth of July was, at first, very like the many that had preceded it. Harry rose, as usual, from his bed a little before six o'clock and prepared for his morning run, then slipped out of the house, the house key he had recently been given securely in his pocket. He ran off toward the park at a fair clip, thinking about how things would be a bit different for the coming weekend.

He knew that Ron was at Hermione's house still, but would be leaving soon for the airport to go with the Grangers on their trip abroad. He had been warned that Ron wasn't bringing his small Scops owl, Pig, and, since Hermione didn't have an owl at all, communication might be sporadic at best. Harry had replied in understanding, and said in turn he mightn't send Hedwig anyway, since he knew he would miss her if she were gone for a long time while he was alone with the Dursleys.

Ron and Hermione were to return in a little over three weeks, on 18 August, a Sunday and exactly two weeks before they would all board the Hogwarts Express. He would miss the contact with his friends, but this was much better than the last year when he had felt thoroughly isolated on Privet Drive.

Even more amazing was that the Dursleys were leaving that very morning for a weekend stay with Aunt Marge. Harry hadn't been invited, but wasn't upset one whit. In fact, he could recall Uncle Vernon's talk with him about it, "Harry, we won't ask you to come along as, well, we know your history with Marge. You are old enough to stay here, and I trust you won't destroy the house or some such rubbish. We'll leave plenty of food for you and will be back in time for dinner on Sunday." His Aunt Petunia had even slipped him a twenty pound note the night before, so he could go out for bite if he wanted!

As Harry rounded the last corner on his run, he saw Uncle Vernon loading up bags into the boot of the car. This was earlier than he thought they'd go, but as it meant a longer bout of freedom for himself he didn't spend much time at all pondering over it.

Ron Weasley did not want to wake up at six in the morning, thank you very much, and struggled valiantly against Hermione's attempts to prod him into rising. Having exhausted the more traditional methods, such as knocking on his door, calling his name (rather loudly) and even mild shaking, Hermione resorted to a sure fire approach. Half a glass of cold water, poured over his face and hair did the trick.

Of course, Ron had yelped and sprung out of bed, as Hermione had anticipated. He even asked loudly, "Whadyadothatfor?" in the Ronspeak he was renowned for. This Hermione had planned. She hadn't planned on the fact that, during warm summer months, he slept only in his boxers, and so was standing in front of her in considerably less than she had ever seen him wear before. And Ron, once he realized this as well, pulled a pillow off his bed (dripping slightly) and held it in front of himself.

"Er, sorry Ron. You need to get downstairs soon if you want a bite before we head to the airport," she said, and practically ran from the room. Ron set the pillow down, scooped up the clothes he was going to wear and crossed the hall to the bathroom to get ready to leave.

A few minutes later, and suitably dressed, Ron ambled into the kitchen, having dropped his already-packed duffle onto the floor near the front door with the rest of the Grangers' bags.

Hermione handed him a plate with an egg and bacon sandwich already made, and mentioned to him that he should eat quickly, as the car was due any moment. At the imploring look in his eyes, she added, "There'll be more breakfast on the plane – this is just your pre-breakfast!" A considerably happier Ron consumed the food with gusto.

At 6:42, with Bill Granger ensconced in the front seat of the car, and Jane and Hermione in the back seat with Ron, the car headed off to Heathrow and the adventure of Ron's life.

At that same time, Arthur Weasley was finishing up his breakfast, sipping the last of his tea. Molly was sitting across the kitchen table with him, nursing her own cuppa. Arthur rose, pecked his wife on the cheek and asked, "When did you say Ginny is due back, dear?"

"She and the Thomas' are supposed to get back from the trip to the shore tomorrow, so she should be home in time for supper," his wife answered.

"Good, then. Awful lonely around here, isn't it, with all the children gone?" he answered her, then said, "Shouldn't be too late tonight, dear!"

With that, he stepped into the fire and disappeared in a swirl of green flame and soot.

Albus Dumbledore was an early riser. He had been for more years than most people could count in their lifespan, and found that the quiet time in the mornings was just the time to get things done without the interruptions that seemed to plague most of his hours at the Ministry.

So it was not unusual at all when he entered the fire in his office to floo to the Ministry at 6:47 that morning.

At precisely that time, Harry was waving goodbye to the Dursleys as his Uncle backed the car out of the drive and drove off toward the motorway. He turned and made his way indoors, heading up the stairs and to his room. His owl, Hedwig, had apparently not yet returned from her evening fly, and so the house felt unnaturally quiet to Harry, as he put away some laundry his Aunt had left for him the preceding night.

Uncle Vernon drove slightly over a mile and then turned off into a business park. Dudley surely would have asked his father what he was doing if he hadn't already fallen back asleep in the rear seat of the car. Instead, he wasn't awake as Vernon pulled into a car park and stopped the car next to a tall man wearing, of all things, a long black cloak. Vernon rolled his window down, and asked the man, "Do you have it?"

The man said nothing, instead handing the small case he had been holding to Vernon. Vernon snapped the lid open and his eyes fairly goggled out of his head at the stack of currency.

"She has to take it -- accept it," the tall man said, and so Vernon handed the case to Petunia.

Dudley by this time was waking, and mumbled, "What's up?" to his parents, to which Aunt Petunia murmured, "Hush, popkin. We'll explain soon."

The man looked at her and said, "So you accept it, then?" and she nodded.

At this the man pulled out a long, thin wooden stick and the Dursley's eyes widened with indignation and not a small amount of panic.

The muggle police didn't fully comprehend the green, cloud-like skull and snake reported floating above the three dead bodies of a family in their still-running car. There were no obvious signs of trauma, and the investigators also didn't understand how the occupants of the car had come into possession of the large amount of stolen currency in an odd wooden case still sitting on the lap of one of the deceased, a Mrs. Petunia Dursley. Their confusion didn't last long, though, once the Ministry obliviators had arrived to get on with their work.

At three minutes before seven, Harry turned the shower on in the little bath across the hall from his bedroom. His clean clothes were sitting on the counter, his wand next to them. He took off his glasses, laying them next to his wand, and tugged of his boxers before stepping into the shower. As he leaned into the hot spray, he decided he'd treat himself to a long soak, as it was never permitted whilst the Dursleys were at home.

Downstairs, the tall cloaked figure and his three companions, similarly attired in black cloaks and white, skull-like masks, winked into existence with a soft "pop" on the font lawn. The only Order member present, sitting a short distance away under an invisibility cloak, was startled at first, but recovered quickly and shot off a stunner at the closest of the Death Eaters with a shouted "Stupify."

Although one of the intruders fell, the two remaining closest to her saw where the spell had come from, and responded with a spell of their own, each loudly calling "Avada Kedavra!" Hestia Jones was dead before she hit the ground, and one of the Death Eaters quickly revived the one that had fallen.

The tall man and one of the others moved quickly to the front door and opened it with a whispered "Alohomora!" The other two remained out in front, as the tall man and his companion moved quietly inside. The running shower proved a perfect opportunity as they moved quietly up the stairs towards the sound, passing by Harry's bedroom.

The tall man opened the door, gently nudging it. At first, Harry noticed nothing and then, when the light in the room seemed to change, he turned and poked his head out past the shower curtain to reach for his wand.

Inches away from reaching it, he saw the red color of the spell as he heard the word "stupefy," and then he crumpled to the ground, wet and unconscious, with a small gash on his head where he had hit the sink as he fell. Tall man shoved a small metal hoop on top of Harry and touched his wand to it, and Harry was gone.

The Death Eaters left as quickly as they could. They'd been instructed not to linger, and so hadn't, stopping only long enough for the tall man to shout, "Morsmordre!" before they, too disappeared from Privet Drive.


	3. A Day Gone Very Wrong rev'd

A Day Gone Very Wrong

A/N:

Thank you to those who have so far reviewed. This, the third attempt to upload properly, will hopefully contain the section breaks originally intended and included in the documents submitted. I think you will find this a much easier read! (Breaks look like a snake sound, incase you wonder what I'm up to.) As with all things Potter, nothing but my own warped sense of reality is my own, the rest belongs to Ms. Rowling, for which I am most grateful. -- myenzie

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Arthur Weasley stepped from the fireplace in the Atrium of the Ministry for Magic a shade before 7:00 am and took a few steps toward the center of the room, where he paused to brush the worst of the soot off his clothes, coughing a bit to clear his throat. Wincing, he muttered to himself, "need to have the chimney cleaned out again," worrying as always about the cost.

Albus Dumbledore emerged two fireplaces down at that moment, elegant as always and showing no signs whatsoever of floo travel. Seeing him, Arthur squelched down any annoyance at the seeming perfection of the man, and greeted him warmly. Albus responded, saying, "Arthur, so good to see you. Here early as well, I see. I do find it so much more productive getting a start on the day without the hustle and bustle that seems to always be about."

"Yes, it's a good way to start the day, I'll say. And things are a bit busy these days -- more cases of muggle baiting, you know. The story of You Know Who's return seems to have brought out the worst in some people," Arthur responded as the two men walked to the security guard.

Moments later, wands weighed, the two wizards stepped onto a lift and pushed the buttons for their separate floors. As the doors opened on Arthur's floor, Dumbledore asked Arthur to send his "hellos" the family and smiled, waving as the doors closed in front of him.

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Kingsley Shacklebolt, Senior Auror, leaned back in his chair. He had pulled the "night shift" and looked forward to the fact that he would wrap everything up in a little less than an hour, at 8:00 that morning. Truth be told, it had not been a bad shift at all. There'd been a couple of minor incidents, but what little had been seen of Death Eater activity after the debacle at the Department of Mysteries had ceased entirely three weeks before, so most of the problems were either the ordinary police-nature problems they dealt with (usually involving petty thefts, barroom brawls and the like) or minor acts of stupidity associated with wanna be Death Eaters.

At 7:14 Kingsley's morning, in fact his entire day, went to hell in a hand basket. The magical quill started writing in the record and assignment book in front of him, recording the next call. The location -- some industrial park in Surrey -- didn't seem all that remarkable. Three dead muggles seemed quite odd, until the writing continued about the presence of a Dark Mark. That was the first such notation since the World Cup over two years ago, and was most entirely disturbing. Though usually the presence of the mark meant the foul deed was complete, Shacklebolt called to team leader Randolph Michaels to take two, four man squads to investigate.

He knew this meant his hoped for timely departure was gone for now, and dreaded telling Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of this very public and early action in the second wizarding war.

Even before word came back from Michaels, though, the quill started writing again. Shacklebolt's heart dropped into his stomach as the location of the next alert became clear, a place he had visited: _Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey -- unknown circumstances, Dark Mark evident._

Kingsley could not for the life of him think of any worse news he could have received that morning. He turned, and called Johansen to him in his deep, melodic voice, "Sven, gather teams four and five and have them meet me in the Apparition Room. I'll be taking this call. Please coordinate with Michaels immediately -- find out what is happening. And contact Amelia -- let her know that the Dark Mark has been spotted above Harry Potter's home in Little Whinging and that I am on site."

Sven Johansen gulped nervously, and nodded his head. It was not often one was required to inform his boss that a disaster was looming over the head of the Potter boy, known alternately as "The Boy Who Lived" or, more recently, "The Chosen One." Johansen was not a politician, but even he could see that this looked to be a public relations nightmare for the Ministry.

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Arthur Weasley was well settled at his little desk, muggle artifacts scattered about. Already two or three Aurors had poked their heads in that morning to say good morning on their way to the loo just down the hall from him. He sighed -- it was nice to sometimes get the company, but a window or a bit more space would have most certainly been nice.

He heard noises coming from around the corner and down in Auror Headquarters, but paid it little heed. All it meant was another investigation, most likely, and if his department was needed, someone would let him know.

When, however, another disturbance occurred but a few minutes later, he couldn't help but pay attention. He could make out the voice, though not the words, of Kingsley Shacklebolt, thinking to himself what a wonderfully powerful and commanding tone the man had. In this case, he thought he detected a bit of stress or anxiety, and that he did find odd. Kingsley was one of the most self-possessed men he knew, and always seemed well in control no matter what the occasion. Turning to the report he was preparing (in triplicate, he thought, so it could be ignored by others three times over rather than only once), he found that it held less interest than the commotion coming now from the Aurors' room. And so he did something he seldom allowed himself to do -- he let his curiosity get the better of him, and rose from his chair to walk back down the hall and see what was going on.

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Harry awoke, naked and cold, on a hard stone floor in a room shrouded in darkness. There was an old wooden door with a small, bar covered window several feet in front of him that admitted the only source of light to the small room; the walls and ceiling were of stone. There were no furnishings and a single dank and smelly hole in the corner, clearly intended as the toilet facility.

As he shook his head, clearing the cobwebs from the stunning curse that had preceded his appearance in this horrid place, he came to appreciate his circumstances. He was alone, utterly alone, and had no idea where he was. He had neither his wand nor his glasses, and no way to communicate with his friends. He was undoubtedly in the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

He sat up and scooted back a bit so as to lean against the hard wall, his back feeling the uneven surface of the stones pressed into it. The silence seemed absolute – he heard no evidence of other human habitation around him.

As he pondered his predicament, he thought back to the morning -- was it that same morning?-- when his relatives had driven off, down Privet Drive, to visit his Aunt Marge. He had thought it odd that they would leave him unattended at their home, but had allowed his gratitude at the prospect of a few Dursley-free days to overwhelm any concern he might have felt.

As he considered what he knew about the blood protection afforded him by calling "home" the place where his mother's blood dwelt, a horrible realization came to him. That protection wouldn't have failed because his Aunt Petunia had left. It would fail only if she had renounced it -- only if she had purposely turned him over to Voldemort.

He knew then -- he had been betrayed by his "family" as his parents had been betrayed by Wormtail. But he didn't think there would have been any reward given to them as there would have been to faithful followers; rather, their betrayal had almost certainly been met with betrayal of its own. It was quite likely that the Dursleys, stupid, prejudiced and extremely greedy as they were, had sought to make a deal with the devil and had paid the ultimate price for it.

His head hurt, and he put his hand to his right temple, where he felt a sticky, half wet substance that was shown to be blood when he pulled his hand away. He leaned forward a little, arms and head resting on the knees he pulled to himself. His mind was a mass of confused emotion. Betrayal, fear, anger, embarrassment, worry and despair battled sequentially for dominance. He had no idea what he should do, or even what he could do -- here, wherever here was -- and he knew he would soon face Voldemort.

He had stood before against the man. His memory replayed the night in the cemetery, where, taunted by the man/monster, he had stood before the man, only fourteen years old and surrounded, but determined to not go out with a whimper.

Could he do it again? This time, though, against such a powerful wizard and he, Harry, with no wand, half blind from lack of glasses, and naked? Where was the dignity in this? Was this to be his destiny, so soon after learning what fate had foretold for him?

His head snapped up at the slamming of a door outside in the hall. Footsteps sounded on wood, presumably from a staircase, and then on stone floor directly outside. A murmured spell with a barely discernable flash of light, and the door opened. A tall man, followed by two others, all cloaked and hooded in black, entered. The tall one pulled back his hood, and his long, white-blonde hair shown in the light that spilled in from the hallway through the now open door.

"Malfoy!" Harry nearly spat.

"Ah, Potter, awake, are we? I trust you are . . . comfortable?" Malfoy's voice oozed out, "I said once before that you would meet the same end as your parents, and I am happy to be here to witness it, soon, very soon."

Harry merely glared back at him, so Malfoy continued, "The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of you himself, so you have a bit longer. However, he has most generously offered you over to us for our amusement. So little Potter, would you care to play?"

Still, Harry merely stared. And so Lucius smirked and raised his wand languidly, drawling out his next word, "Crucio!"

Harry's screams rent the air as the two Death Eaters behind Malfoy laughed softly.

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Amelia Bones thoroughly disliked getting firecalls in the morning before she left for work, and certainly didn't expect them from Kingsley Shacklebolt. So, when Blinky, her house-elf, told her there was a call waiting for her in her study, she grumbled quietly as she pulled her housecoat around herself.

To say she was surprised to see Johansen's face in the fire would be an understatement. And to say she was concerned at his news would be like saying that a blizzard at the South Pole in the middle of winter is slightly chilly. "I'll be there very shortly," she told him, and all but ran to her room to finish dressing. Amelia called to Blinky to let her know that no breakfast would be required as she finished dressing and all but ran to the fire, almost forgetting the floo powder before stepping into the flames and calling out, "MLE Office." Moments later, she strode out of the fireplace in the restricted Apparition Room of her department, tugged the door open and walked to the record and assignment book, hoping there was a mistake. There wasn't.

Shoulders slumped a bit, with the buzz and chatter of the room now more desperate sounding than she'd heard it since the first war, she motioned to Johansen to follow her to her office.

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Ron was transfixed by the bustle of people at Heathrow. They had checked most of the bags at the curb (he had to admit that was rather ingenious of the Muggles -- why couldn't they do that at King's Cross for the Hogwart's Express?), and entered the large building to proceed to the gate for the airplane. The flight was to leave at 9:00 that morning and, after a stop in Paris continue on to land in Nice in south-east France at 2:00 that afternoon, with a fly time of around four hours. This much he knew because Hermione had explained it to him.

What he did not expect was the mass of people in this huge building. The atrium was two or three stories tall; signs with oddly coded words seemed to glow, even in the bright lights, all seemingly powered by "eklectricity." In the middle of the huge room were things he thought were called "excalators," moving steps like led to Professor Dumbledore's office, but straight rather than spiraling up.

People ran every which way, all seemingly intent on finding the right queue to do something, though he had no idea what exactly. He had paused at the door a few steps in, and people were streaming in around him until Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him, none too gently, along behind her. Bill and Jane Granger stood in a row of people, each clutching their small flight bags, and Ron and Hermione joined them with their own rucksacks. Bill asked Hermione and Ron for their papers and, after a moment of panic, Ron pulled the items his father had procured for him from a pocket in the side of his bag.

The line moved along swiftly, and at the front of the queue, Mr. Granger spoke quickly with the uniform-clad gentleman behind the counter for a few minutes, while the man clicked away with his figures at what Ron thought was called a computler. Oblong card thingies spit out of a machine of some sort, and Bill handed Ron his original papers and one of the card things. "That's your ticket, Ron. You'll need to show it at security, where they make sure you aren't bringing anything dangerous with you, and then again at the gate when we get on the plane." Ron nodded, pretending that he wasn't half as confused as he was.

Looking around as he followed the rest of the Grangers across the room to the moving "excalators," Ron wondered if this was anything like Harry had felt when he'd first been introduced to Diagon Alley. He frowned then, a little sad at the idea of Harry stuck with the Muggles for at least a few more weeks, thinking how bad his friend had it right then while he got to go off on a holiday with a pretty girl. He had no idea, of course, just how much worse off Harry really had it right then.

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Harry's voice was hoarse, his whole body ached. Though Malfoy had nothing on Voldemort, or even Bellatrix, when it came to that spell, it still hurt almost unbearably. As the spell was lifted, Harry shuddered and curled up a little more. The shortest of the three took a few steps forward and removed her hood and mask, grinning sickeningly down at the shaking boy. She drew back her right foot, and kicked him viciously in the side; Harry heard a muffled crack and knew one of his ribs had broken as he rolled over onto his back. She smiled more deeply and pointed her wand at him, lowering her aim from his head and down past his torso until it was pointed at a very delicate spot, and uttered a stinging hex that Harry felt as agony. Unlike the Cruciatus Curse, though, this spell would linger excruciatingly unless canceled by the caster or someone else.

Leaving Harry writhing on the floor, the three Death Eaters crossed to and through the door, locking it behind them as they returned from whence they had come.

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Barry Bartfeld had covered the Ministry Beat as a freelance writer for more years than most of the Ministry's employees had worked there, and so was a fixture that could move pretty much freely around as he wanted. He would ordinarily arrive on weekday mornings before the vast majority of staff, and invent a reason for entering that everyone knew was patently false, but paid no attention to. The twenty-sixth of July was no exception to this rule.

After paying a courtesy visit to the Department of Herbology, as indicated on his Press Pass, he made his way to Level 2 to sniff out whether there might be some story he could write and sell to one of the various news venues that were his customers. If he was really lucky, he might even get a first line on a story for the Daily Prophet, which, having the largest circulation, paid the highest rates.

Barry was astounded to see the hubbub when he exited the lift. Arthur Weasley had just come around the corner and approached one of the Aurors, so Barry simply melted into the woodwork. Being a wizard, this was more easily accomplished than for a muggle, as he not only chose an inconspicuous spot in which to stand, but he also surreptitiously waved a simple obscuration charm on himself. Though not invisible, he was more ignorable than even he usually was.

"What's all the commotion about, Fredericks?" Arthur asked an older, graying wizard. Fredericks turned to his friend sadly. There were no rules prohibiting sharing of this soon to be public information, particularly with someone else in the employee of the Ministry, particularly a Head of another Department. However, Fredericks was no fool, and knew that Arthur Weasley wouldn't take this news at all well.

"A couple of things actually, Arthur. A family was murdered, found under the Dark Mark in Surrey a little after 7:00 this morning. But worse, shortly after, we got another alert about a Dark Mark, close by. We haven't heard all the feedback on that one yet, though."

Mr. Weasley felt a knot forming in his stomach, although he didn't really know why. He had a bad feeling about this, though, a premonition that the news was somehow worse than this anonymous tragedy that had been explained to him; his fears were confirmed by looking Fredericks in the eye. "Who?"

"The second sign was at Harry Potter's house, the first was over the bodies of his family," Fredericks all but whispered.

Arthur Weasley felt the wind push out of his lungs, and he swayed a bit unsteadily. Another Auror, whom he didn't recognize, thoughtfully scooted a chair behind him, lest he collapse on the floor, and Arthur sank into it. He propped his head on his hands dizzily. Harry had been through so much and now this. "Is Harry dead, then?" he had to ask.

Fredericks took a deep breath and answered, "Actually, they've not found any sign of him. But his glasses and wand, together with clothing, were found next to a shower that was still running. They're still out there looking for clues, of course, but we haven't heard more. Kingsley's there now, Amelia's waiting for him to return."

Barry was shocked. This was the worst, and the best, news he'd ever heard. No one else with the Press knew, and no one else with the Press would even think about poking around in the Department for hours. He had the scoop of a lifetime, and the scoop could well be that the hope of the wizarding world was gone, dead at the hands of the Dark Lord. He settled back further into his corner, leaning against the wall as much for support as concealment at this point.

The door from the Apparition Room opened, and Amelia Bones, Head of the Department, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the Department's most senior Aurors, walked out, talking quietly amongst themselves. Spying Arthur, Amelia and Kingsley walked to him.

"Is it true?" asked Arthur, still sitting in the uncomfortable, wood-backed chair.

Kingsley nodded, but Amelia chose to give him a verbal answer, "Indeed. Hestia Jones was found murdered at the Dursley's, where Harry Potter takes summer residence. Mr. Potter is missing. The circumstances indicate he has been abducted, by Death Eaters, from his shower, without either his glasses or his wand. There was some blood, but not enough to seem life threatening." She drew a breath. "Though we certainly can't say for sure, one can hardly suppose this is a case of kidnapping for ransom. Until we know more, we shall of course use all of our resources to find Harry. But, truthfully, we should probably acknowledge that he has been taken to You Know Who, who undoubtedly wishes to finish the job himself."

Arthur had never seen the stern Madame Bones looking like she did then, older and sadder, with unaccustomed dampness in her eyes, and he knew it was true. But still, he had to ask, "Do you have any idea where he might have been taken?"

He had never seen either Amelia or Kingsley look so bereft. Kingsley answered for them, head down and in a softer and quieter tone than Arthur had ever heard from the large man, "No."

All was silent for a moment, and then Arthur stood. "Someone needs to tell Dumbledore. He's here in the Ministry, I'll tell him. I'm sure we'll be back in a few minutes." Arthur made his way to the lifts.

At the same time, Barry pulled open the door of the stairwell, intent on making a much earlier departure from the Ministry than was his custom.

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Molly Weasley had been finding life at the Burrow a bit slow of late. With her children gone through the school year or moved out entirely, she had months where she had little company through the day. She had not given serious thought to finding outside pursuits though, as she knew her remaining children needed her during the holidays. Or at least, she had known that until this summer. Ron, of course, had spent a couple of weeks at home, but now was off for a few weeks. Ginny came and went, but even when there, spent much of her time with her new boyfriend.

Thoughts turning to her youngest child and only daughter, Molly thought about this new young man. Dean Thomas seemed like an all right sort of fellow. A year ahead, a roommate of Ron and Harry's, he seemed polite enough. She understood he did well enough in school, and had seen some of the sketches he had drawn for her daughter. He seemed quite gifted. Overall, she certainly had no reason to complain.

Somehow, though, she had always thought that Ginny and Harry would be together. Perhaps it wasn't time yet, or perhaps it wasn't ever meant to be and Molly had simply failed to give up on her daughter's crush.

Molly felt conflicted, too, over her thoughts of the Potter boy. She regretted the letter to him earlier that summer, though she couldn't deny all of the feelings that had led her to pen it. Harry did have a penchant for finding trouble, and for getting into things that he oughtn't. But his reply had seemed truly remorseful, and he had promised to try to do better by her children, and she believed he meant it. Whether he could actually do so or not, she wasn't nearly so sure.

She neither wanted to give up on the boy, because he really hadn't been afforded a fair lot in life at all and her family might be one of the few bright things he'd ever had, nor did she want his troubles to spill over and hurt or kill her children. She had said to him before that he was "like a member of the family" and she knew that she _almost_ meant it.

Shaking her head, she moved over to the counter in the kitchen and, using her wand, turned on the Wizard's Wireless, intending to enjoy the music as she set to canning some of the products of her vegetable garden. She hummed along to the latest Celestina Warbeck tune as she set to work, thoughts of children and problems tumbling out of her head as she busied her hands.

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Ron finally succeeded in convincing the Grangers that food was a good idea. Surprisingly, Bill agreed, and, after settling the ladies down at a table in the food court to keep watch over their carry on luggage, led Ron over to one of the take out restaurants. Ron hadn't seen anything like this, either, and was somewhat entranced by the variety, not to mention the entire idea of collecting "fast food" and bringing it back to a table. As they got into line, Bill handed a simple muggle wallet to Ron, who looked at him quizzically. "Look, Ron, this is some money for while we're in France. Please, don't look at it like charity. Your parents have taken wonderful care of our Hermione on her holidays with you and haven't asked for a thing in return. Where we're going, we can't offer the option of always having everything available in our kitchen -- we'll be eating out a fair amount. And you two -- you and Hermione -- will want some time without us old folks, I'll wager. So, either you take the money and pay, or Hermione does. If you're anything like me, you'd rather pay."

Ron's face started to turn red, and he looked at the floor, and mumbled something that sounded like "I don't want your money, sir," to Bill.

Bill laid his hand on the youth's shoulder, and Ron looked up. "Ron, you're a good young man, and I'd like to do this so that you and my daughter can enjoy your holiday. Please, won't you let me do this for the two of you, and make me happy?"

Looking embarrassed, Ron did something that neither Harry nor Hermione would have thought would come so easily -- he nodded and said quietly, "Thank you."

"This money isn't for here, its all French, so I'll still get the food here, OK? And we won't get too much, as there'll be more on the plane."

Minutes later, Bill Granger and Ron Weasley, chatting like fast friends, dumped an assortment of pastries and cups of tea on the table, and the four proceeded to eat their way through the bounty before them (though Ron did consume a considerable share of the food).

Carrying their partially consumed tea and bags, they made their way through the concourse. As they passed a window with a jet aircraft parked outside, Ron stopped and stared. "Blimey, it's HUGE!" he said, to no one in particular. "Does it really fly?"

Hermione tugged on his hand, and Bill and Jane chuckled as they turned the corner and handed the tickets to the attendant at the door to the jet way. Minutes later, they were safely settled into their seats, Bill and Jane Granger in Seats 3A and B, and immediately behind them Ron in seat 4A and Hermione in 4B. As it turned out, Ron enjoyed the "mimosa" the flight attendant slipped to him, as did the rest of his traveling companions, as the rest of the passengers slipped into their seats after setting their bags in the overhead compartments.

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Ginny blinked a couple of times at the sunlight streaming in through the window and the chintz draperies covering it. She stretched, and rolled over before snuggling deeper into the crisp sheets of the bed she was sleeping in. She'd have to get up shortly, but a few more minutes of slumber sounded just wonderful!

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Arthur Weasley studied his shoes intently as the lift moved shakily to its destination, his careful avoidance of eye contact enough to dissuade anyone from chatting him up. When it stopped moving, he exited and turned right. He neither hurried nor lingered, but moved resolutely toward Dumbledore's Ministry office, not looking forward at all to his next conversation.

Opening the door, he addressed the youthful wizard behind the desk, asking to see Dumbledore. The fellow didn't recognize him (and truthfully Arthur didn't recognize the new assistant either), but was quick to show him in to the Mugwump's office. Albus looked up over his spectacles and smiled, saying, "Arthur, what a pleasant surprise!" But then he paused, because the look on Arthur Weasley's face looked most unpleasant indeed.

Moving into the room, Arthur drew the door closed and spoke quietly and simply, his voice a dull monotone, "Albus, I'm afraid there's been bad news. I just came from Auror headquarters, and there've been a couple of attacks in Surrey."

With the mention of the location, Dumbledore's smile had faded entirely into a frown, but Arthur pushed on with his story, "The Dursley's have been killed, and Harry has been taken. You had best come."

For a man well on his way through his second century, Albus Dumbledore could move, and move he did. He was up and passing Weasley before it would have seemed possible, and Arthur was following along in his wake as they headed back to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

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Harry _hurt_. He felt groggy and uncomfortable and momentarily confused, and he felt like he'd been kicked in a very tender spot. He shook his head and momentarily wondered why he seemed to be in a semi-standing position, until he realized his arms were bound above him. Shaking his head, he regained recollection of his circumstances. I little panic crept into his thoughts but he pushed it down mercilessly. He looked around, twisting, and saw that his wrists were held by metal cuffs, which were affixed by short chains to the wall he was leaning against. The chains were short enough that he couldn't sit or kneel, only stand or sag against the pull, and right now he was sagging and thus bearing much of his weight on his aching wrists. He shuffled a little and stood, his arms still well over his head but much of the weight removed from his wrists.

It was very dark in this dungeon, and cold, and he shivered from the temperature and not a little from realization again of his predicament. Still, though, his head felt fuzzy and he wondered if he wasn't suffering from a concussion.

There was a little light coming from the slit under the door and through the small window, but not much else. At first he heard nothing, but then realized what must have awakened him: whispered voices outside the door. One, a male's, said urgently, "You can't injure him too badly or the Dark Lord will be angry as hell! Watch yourself, Bella, or you will pay."

The responding voice Harry recognized. Bellatrix Lestrange. She murmured a response, threatening in its simplicity, "It is none of your concern. You will move aside or I will move you!"

Without pause, the door opened and Lestrange entered, her face showing a cruel and twisted smile that belied the insanity behind it.

"Shit," Harry thought. "This can't be good." Harry knew she was crazy and hated him nearly as much as he hated her.

Bellatrix crossed the room quietly, smiling. "Oooh, wee baby Potter! Not so sure of yourself now, are you?"

Harry didn't answer, so she raised her wand and pointed at his chest. Sparks flew from the wand without her having uttered a word and they burned into his flesh, causing him to scream again with a hoarse voice.

"You embarrassed me, Harry. No one is allowed to do that, and for that you will pay."

She inched closer still, but put her wand into a pocket and pulled a short silver knife out. She was close enough now that he could smell her foul breath, and Harry thought for a fleeting moment that it might be quicker to push her over the edge now, push her into killing him, rather than wait for the inevitable pain-filled death at Voldemort's hands. Before he could act on his thoughts, though, she had pushed the knife slightly into his skin just below his throat, drawing a trickle of blood. He grunted in pain and her smile broadened. "How does that feel, little Potter?" she asked, and then drew the knife down slowly another inch.

Harry squirmed and shouted in pain and the knife seemed to carve a shallow pit into his skin. "Ah, you get my point now, Harry?" she said as he quieted, and then she quickly dragged the tip of the knife down across his chest and stomach and finally to a stop just above his pubic hair. The wound bled, the blood dripping down the shallow furrow in his skin and then off his penis and onto the floor. She held the knife, its sharp edge painful but not cutting against his thigh and leaned against him, ignoring the blood that now covered him and stained her robes and whispered into his ear, "If only I could truly do to you what I would, but worry not, baby Potter . . . the Dark Lord will soon make you wish that I could continue our little discussion." And with this, she whipped around and moved to the door, turning at the last moment, wand out and crying "Crucio!" Again, Harry screamed, flinging his arms against the chains that bound him, the metal cuffs cutting into his wrists. After what seemed to Harry like hours of agony, she pulled the spell of him and, laughing, left, the door slamming behind her and plunging Harry again into the dark.

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Albus Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley were sitting in the uncomfortable chairs in Amelia Bones' office. Arthur had nothing to say; his mind was numb, but odd thoughts of concern washed over him, like what would Molly say, or Ron, or Ginny? Where was Harry? He didn't know whether to hope the boy was alive or not, because if he lived he must surely be suffering and Arthur wasn't at all sure that it wasn't only a matter of time, anyway.

Amelia had explained the circumstances of Harry's disappearance and the deaths of his relatives to both Albus and Arthur, going into more detail than she had with Arthur alone, and for once Albus felt lost, as though he had no idea what next to do. Shaking himself slightly, he stood, and Arthur then Amelia followed his lead. "I shall visit Little Whinging then, if I may, Amelia?" he asked.

A simple nod of her head was enough to indicate acceptance, and so he thanked her and he and Arthur exited her office. On his was to the MLE Apparition Room, Dumbledore pulled Arthur aside and asked him to contact their "friends" and arrange that those who could, should meet within the hour at the new Headquarters. Nodding, Arthur turned to the lift where he could go to the ground floor and access the public firecall facilities to make a series of hurried calls. The last, he decided, would be to his wife.

In the mean time, Albus went to the Auror's Apparition Room and apparated directly to Privet Drive. He paused to pay his respects to Hestia and looked for evidence that was, unfortunately missing, before proceeding himself to the new Headquarters.

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Barry Bartfield hadn't quite run to the Daily Prophet office, but had gotten as close to that form of physical exercise as he had in the last four score years, and that was saying a lot. The news desk for the Prophet also held the single news announcer for the Wizard Wireless Network, where any "interesting" news could be picked up and relayed in the half-hourly update between songs and the daily dramas that filled the program schedule.

Barry quickly wrote out the story at the desk, a few short paragraphs that would shortly tear the wizarding world asunder. As quickly as he wrote it, the editor read it, correcting a few words and changing a couple of little things, and then scrawled a Headline across the top, "Harry Potter Kidnapped by Death Eaters, Believed Dead." A wave of his wand duplicated it and sent the original to the copy desk, which would in moments decide that a new special edition would be set and run. In little less than an hour and a half, it would hit the streets. But even before that, the copy of the article was handed to the news announcer.

Once he read, and re-read, the short announcement, the announcer walked back into his studio, closing the door so that the permanent silencing ward would block out the hustle and bustle of a busy news room. He walked over to what looked suspiciously like a microphone from muggle broadcasting from the 1950's, and moved the knob on the bottom to "Private" from "Quiet," linking him to the main office for WWN and changing the listening spell from the broadcast network to the main office. A moment later, his boss asked him gruffly what was up and why he was interrupting the staff meeting (which the announcer took to mean his tea).

To say that Gray Danfeld, managing director of the WWN, was rattled by what he heard would be an understatement. "You're sure?" he asked, and was actually sorry to hear confirmation. His decision made, he told the announcer to switch to broadcast mode and to read the announcement after the next song ended.

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Ginny Weasley was really enjoying this short holiday. Though not as far or for as long as Ron's trip with Hermione, she found it nice to sleep in and then lounge and play on the beach with her boyfriend. Dean was a nice boy, and goofing around in the surf had been a lot of fun, as had been the dinners with his parents, and the stolen kisses and hugs. She stretched her arms over her head as she lay on her back, soaking in the sun, and wished for a moment that Harry could be there, too, enjoying a holiday and relaxing in the sun, instead of stuck with his Uncle and Aunt. For a minute, she felt a little guilty that he, for all his fame and fortune, really had so little, but then told herself she shouldn't be thinking of other boys when her boyfriend was right there with her.

Dean's thoughts were much simpler, though they might not have been if she realized that the small smile that had formed on Ginny's mouth wasn't for him but for her thoughts of Harry. Not knowing that, though, he simply watched as she stretched and thoroughly enjoyed the view.

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Arthur had managed to firecall as many as he could find, and knew he had only fifteen minutes before he also should be at the new Order Headquarters. He had to make a stop, though. He couldn't just call Molly, and he had to tell her in person before she somehow heard the news otherwise.

He left the private firecall cubicle and crossed the Atrium to the bank of fireplaces. Taking a handful of floo powder from a small bag in his robes (as he didn't trust himself to apparate just now), he threw the dust into the fire and stepped in when it flared green, calling out "The Burrow!"

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The anticipation was growing on the plane as the pilots had announced they were on final approach to Nice airport. Ron had spent much of the time looking out the window, enjoying this very different mode of flying very much -- the height, speed and food service all vying for status as the best part of the experience in his mind. Whatever time he wasn't spending looking out the window, was spent looking at the very pretty girl sitting next to him. Somewhere during the flight, he realized, his hand and hers had become entwined, and looking at her shyly saw a slight smile on her lips. He smiled a little then, and squeezed her had gently, but didn't relinquish it. She smiled more broadly, and, as he settled contentedly into his seat, his sole thought was, "_Brilliant!_"

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Albus had found nothing at all that was helpful. He knew that others would soon arrive at the new Headquarters, so bid farewell to the remaining Aurors and apparated there. Grateful that he was the first to arrive, he walked into the small private office set aside for him. He sat in the large leather chair behind the desk, and closed the door with a sweep of is arm through the air. With his wand, he conjured a cup of tea for himself and took a sip of the nearly scalding liquid before propping his elbows onto the desk and leaning his head into his hands. He struggled to contain himself, because he knew that Harry needed him to be strong, and so did the people who would soon arrive. It would fall again to him to lead them through a crisis, though his heart ached for peace.

Sensing the need in his friend's heart, Fawkes arrived in a burst of fire, circled the room and lit upon the desk in front of Dumbledore, trilling softly and soothing slightly the aggrieved Headmaster.

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Harry had no idea how long he had been captive -- not in terms of hours or days even. The dark overwhelmed him -- it seemed to him that they had extinguished the light in the hallway beyond the door as the faint trace of light from under the door and through the window was gone. The only company he had was the drip - drip - drip of his blood as it dropped to the floor and into the small puddle formed at his feet, and the thoughts that warred for control of his mind.

He fought down the urge to panic, or to rail against fate for his predicament. He tried even to push aside the desire for comfort or company from a friend or from family, though in truth he admitted he'd never really had support from a "family." His thoughts turned to feelings of self-pity for a moment before he ruthlessly shoved that, too, aside.

The Death Eaters had left him alone for some time now, and so he finally was regaining a sense of control -- not over his situation but at least over himself and his own mind and actions.

If it was his destiny to fight against Voldemort, then he decided he wouldn't simply surrender. He wouldn't die with a whimper when he might yet fight back with a roar. What he hadn't focused on before, and what his imprisoners didn't know about, was his new found wandless skills. He might be no match for them generally, but he still might at least do something so long as he kept surprise on his side.

As he stood there in the dark, Harry Potter thought not of the fallen but of the living, the people he cared about and who cared about him. He decided that he wouldn't let them down. Whether he was met with success or failure, he would try his hardest for his friends.

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At 93 Diagon Alley, business was very good. There was a continual rumble of voices and laughter and muffled explosions as Weasley Wheezes were bought and sold and exclaimed over. In the background, the Wizarding Wireless hummed with music that was barely discernable over the din, but provided what muggles called "white noise" that lent a bit of calmness to the overall atmosphere of creative chaos that reigned there. All of that came to a crashing stop, though, as three bell-like tones echoed from the speaker on the Wireless, which was mounted up near the ceiling in a corner of the shop. It was a tone never before used on the WWN, and signaled the first ever news bulletin interruption of programming.

"We are sorry to interrupt our normal programming, but we have just received a news bulletin. Harry Potter was reported attacked and kidnapped this morning, and is thought most likely now to be dead at the hands of Death Eaters." The bulletin had continued with scant information, but the news had silenced the noise in the shop more effectively than Snape had ever commanded the attention of his Potions' classes. A few patrons screamed, one elderly lady fainted away completely, but most, young and old alike, just were stunned, many with a stray tear or two drifting down their cheeks.

In a few short weeks since the Quibbler story and then the confirmed return of the Dark Lord, Harry had gone from pariah to praised and many who had railed against him had felt guilty for their actions and hope at the thought that he might continue to stand strong against You-Know-Who. The single report seemed to tear all the life out of the assembled customers, who wandered aimlessly out of the shop.

Fred and George Weasley and Lee Jordan were no less stunned for the report. Lee knew and respected and even liked Harry, whilst Fred and George thought of him as near a brother. Fred spoke first, telling Lee to go home, and that they would close the shop. Lee thanked them softly, quietly, and left through the front door, saying he'd return the next day. Fred and George couldn't think that far ahead and only nodded in understanding. After Lee left, they locked and sealed the door, pushed aside the hidden door in the back room and climbed the stairs to their flat in silence. At the top, George fetched the bottle of firewhiskey while Fred turned on the Wireless and brought the glasses.

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Arthur Weasley didn't realize that he should have been hungry, having missed lunch. Instead, his stomach churned as he thought of the dreaded conversation to come. He stepped out of the fire in his home, and spared a thought for a boy who would have given everything to have been able to call a place like this home. He dusted himself off and moved to the kitchen.

As he moved through the door, he saw his wife staring at the Wizarding Wireless soundlessly, as it spoke, ". . . repeating that again, we have received confirmed reports that Harry Potter, known as the Boy-Who-Lived and The Chosen One, was kidnapped by Death Eaters this morning and is thought by senior ministry officials to be dead. We will, of course, update you with latest news whenever it becomes available."

Arthur reached his wife in three swift strides and enveloped her in a hug. She sagged against him and he steered her into a chair at the kitchen table. "How, Arthur? How?" she wept into his shoulder as he held her.

Arthur didn't respond immediately, instead he just held her as she shook. After a few minutes he gave her a brief summary of events, including telling her that Dumbledore hadn't given up hope and so should they not. Finally, he told her that he had to go to an Order meeting, and she nodded and visibly struggled to pull herself together. Standing, she walked to the kitchen sink and scrubbed her face with some cold water, drying off and telling Arthur she was ready to go.

Though he protested her coming, his heart wasn't in it and he knew from the outset he would lose, so in minutes they were flooing to the impromptu Order meeting.

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The bump on landing at the Nice airport nearly scared Ron witless, until Hermione pulled at her hand a little and, when he looked at her, smiled back to him. The butterflies in his stomach diminished, and those remaining felt _much_ better.

Leaving the plane and clearing the official lines, gathering luggage and getting the rental car took time and left Ron more bewildered than he had been at Heathrow, though also impressed with the inventiveness of muggles. There were many interesting and slightly scary things, and the crowds around the airport were daunting, but it was mostly made better by the warm feeling he had as he held his girlfriend's hand. He knew he had to ask when they were alone whether she would really be his girlfriend, but he also finally felt confidant that the answer would be "yes," and that heartened him greatly.

They settled into the back of the rental car, everything secure in the boot. Ron half watched the scenery as they drove west on the Motorway, buildings zipping by then turning to less populated areas, all bright and green and beautiful, as the pretty witch by his side rested her head on his shoulder. He thought that everything was wonderful in the world, with no thoughts but joy at what he had and anticipation of the days ahead. If he had thought at all about Harry, it wouldn't have been in jealousy for all that Harry had but for what Ron had up on him at that very moment.

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Ginny thought that the combination back rub and application of muggle sunscreen felt wonderful. Lying out on the beach, the surf pounding in the distance, and Dean's hands kneading her muscles was bliss, and the whispers of affection and small kisses and nibbles on her ears were downright sexy. The fact that Dean's parents had gone back to the small cottage they had let made it even better, as she fully intended to return the favor with much more meaningful kisses in a matter of moments. Luckily, Hogwarts rules about public displays of affection didn't apply in the summer, and Molly Weasley wouldn't be harmed by the goings on of her only daughter if she didn't know anything!

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The arriving Order members hadn't, for the most part, heard anything about the kidnapping of Harry Potter. The few who did made short order, however, of murmuring the rumor to those who didn't know of it.

Albus Dumbledore stepped out of his office, and it was clear by his countenance that the rumor was true. He asked those assembled, including the recently arrived Arthur and Molly Weasley, to have a seat at the long table, and stood at the head. He started by way of explanation, "Many of you have heard, here or elsewhere, that Harry Potter has been kidnapped by Death Eaters. That rumor, unfortunately, is true."

As if called by some power stronger than himself, Severus Snape, brooding off in a corner rather than sitting with the rest of those assembled, stood straight and, in a tone as offensive as most anyone in the room could recall, asked, "And how did the brat manage to do that? Wandered off or ignored your orders, Albus?"

Anger and outrage filled the faces of most of those assembled, with Remus in particular furious as he shouted, "Maybe _you_ should tell _us_, Severus? You're the spy, aren't you?"

Albus looked, if possible, older and more tired then, but his voice was still firm when he spoke loudly and commandingly, "ENOUGH!"

After the room was silenced, he looked pointedly at Severus, and spoke in barely more than a whisper, "Harry did nothing wrong. Nothing whatsoever. His relatives appear to have betrayed him -- sold him out to Voldemort." The room seemed to shudder at the name and a few present hissed slightly. "They have been killed for their trouble, as was Hestia while standing guard duty." At this the room started, as this news hadn't been reported. A few who had been closest to her shed quiet tears. "The wards fell when Petunia bargained Harry's life away, and no one knew or had time to act. If there is anyone who is at fault, it is me, for I did not foresee this despite Harry's continuing troubles with the muggles and their continuing enmity towards all things magical and Harry in particular. If you would find fault, Severus, then chastise me, but do not denigrate Harry for that which is not his fault."

The room seemed deathly quiet then as moments stretched one into another. Finally, Dumbledore spoke again, "Severus, or anyone else, have you heard anything about what is being done with Harry, or where he might be?"

Snape spoke again, his demeanor much more subdued, "I have not been called for days. And even then, there was nothing said at all about Potter. As you know, Albus, the Dark Lord varies his location regularly, and each of the many domiciles he avails himself of is protected by a dark version of the fidelius charm. Most often I do not know where I am, and even when I do, am cannot reveal it to you or anyone else."

As he surveyed the room, a few others said that they also had not heard even a rumor about the abduction, much less knew where to start looking.

Sighing, Albus directed the Order members with contacts to seek them out to see what, if anything, they could find. He said he would wait in his office for news and asked all to remain alert and at the ready in case assistance was required. He tried to speak a few words of hope and comfort but even to his ears, they fell flat.

Remus was one of the last to leave, and looked much the worse for wear: much worse even than immediately following a full moon. Albus hugged the man briefly before he flooed away, uttering words of encouragement and hope, while thinking that the man looked like his last link to the world had been wrenched from his hands.

Albus hugged Molly Weasley good-bye, also, noting she was barely holding herself together, and told her they wouldn't rest until Harry was brought home. She smiled wanly at him, returned his hug, and stepped into the fire to return to the Burrow. Albus shook Arthur's hand, resting his other hand on the younger man's shoulder. Arthur couldn't help but ask, "It hardly seems fair, does it? Harry has been put through so much, and now this. I don't know whether to hope we find him, or that he's been put out of his misery because I'm afraid we won't." As he left, Albus was afraid he shared that confusion, and then Fawkes flew to his shoulder and they disappeared in a flash of flame,

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Harry hung from the chains, surrounded still by the dark and still the only sound keeping him company the slow dripping of his blood onto the floor, though that had mostly stopped now that it had coagulated along most of the cut inflicted by Bellatrix Lestrange. Then, his scar flared in pain and he pushed his mind into the white fog of his occlumency, flying on the air currents and fleeing to a castle he imagined on a promontory above the clouds below. He swept over the battlements and through a window, into the keep, far removed from the threat of mental attack, and the pain faded almost to nothingness.

Finally, Harry heard noises from the stairs and then the corridor beyond his door. Light shown again below the door, and then it opened. Lucius Malfoy and two other goonish looking men in robes and the white Death Eater masks entered, one taking a place on either side of Malfoy. The Heavy wooden door swung closed behind them and Lucius stood only a few feet in front of it. "So, Potter, I can keep my promise to you. Today you will meet the same fate as your parents. How does it feel?" He waved his wand restlessly but without purpose in front of himself.

Harry looked up at Malfoy, and called on the resolve he had found earlier -- to fight even if he might not win, but to do all that he could for his friends and those he considered family. With a tug and prodding of magic focused only with his mind, his hands were free of their constraints and he held both out in front of himself, pointed at Lucius Malfoy, his fingers half clenched, and thought of his need to beat the man back -- and he pushed his magic out through his hands.

A great white ball erupted from each hand. Malfoy had already turned serious and was starting some incantation as he waved his wand, but he was out of time. The two goons were worse off -- they merely looked befuddled and hadn't even reached for their wands. The two glowing balls hit Malfoy in the chest, flinging him into and through the three-inch thick wooden door, which shattered into dozens of pieces. The force of the magic blow and the consequent push through the door and into the stone wall crushed Malfoy's chest, pushing hundreds of shards of rib bone into his lung and through his heart. He would have died in seconds if the force of the push hadn't crushed his skull into the wall so strongly that the back of his head was shoved nearly three inches forward, pushing his brain out through the ruptures inside of the skull made from the compression. Malfoy _stuck_ to the wall, shoved _into_ the stone as it was compressed, too, by the force of the blow.

The two tag-alongs didn't fair much better. The wave of magic, though not directed against them, carried them back forcefully into the wall on either side of the door. One died moments later as his head took the brunt of the hit; the other fell to the ground unconscious and paralyzed from the broken back caused by the impact.

The "boom" attracted the attention of the entire house above, and Death Eaters turned to run to the stairs as Voldemort screamed in fury.

Harry stared for a moment at the destruction, and then, sensing Voldemort still above him, held his hands up and refocused his thoughts again on the people most important to him. He would take his shot for all he was worth now, before they all made it down to him, in hope for those alive and in retribution for those killed by the maniac above. The balls he called forth to his hand now didn't fly upwards immediately but grew bigger and swirled, almost like silver-white balls of fire, growing to the size of a Quaffle each, until finally he flung them up towards the Death Eaters and their master. The impact with the ceiling above was tremendous, as the several feet of stone buckled up and then flew away from Harry. Walls turned away and windows shattered, the glass melting as it fell to the ground. The ground shook with enough force that muggle devices recorded a minor earthquake and the sky lit up with a glow that muggles reported to the police in a small hamlet thirty kilometers away.

Above, the Death Eaters who were nearest the stairs were least prepared and were flung back like so many match sticks. Across the great room where the center of the geyser of magical power flowed up, Voldemort tipped out of his throne, eyes wide in disbelief. He flung a shield around himself as he was tossed back as well, the bubble hitting the stone wall behind him and holding as the wall crumpled, then bouncing against the floor and being shoved again as debris from the explosion hit it. Still, he pushed the shield out even though it sapped his strength, as the roof above crumbled down on him and the remaining bits and pieces and bodies (living or not) of his Death Eaters. Finally, he came to rest as the bubble shield dissolved, holding all but the last two foot long shard of wood away. That sharpened pole harpooned him, passing through his chest and puncturing his right lung, wedged into the floor beneath him. With a long and painful breath, he concentrated with all his might, focused on where he needed to go, and was gone, lance and all, with a loud "crack."

In the cellar, Harry felt exhausted as he looked up at the entirety of the house above as it seemed to rise up and away from him. A moment later, though, reality hit as he remembered the muggle saying that "what goes up must come down." He felt a shift in the magic about him, as though less constrained, and thought for a single moment that he needed to _get out_ but he didn't know where or how. Then it occurred to him -- Headquarters was his, was still safe -- he could go there if he knew how. Not even realizing what he was doing, he drew his magic up again and thought with determination, "_I need to get to Headquarters_" whilst picturing the kitchen with absolute clarity. A moment later and without a sound, he too was gone, leaving only the condemned to their fate amongst the rubble. But a single moment later, the house came crashing down where he had only just stood.


	4. Back from the Dead

Back from the Dead

Fred and George Weasley had, for once, shown a bit of responsibility. Although it had been tempting to finish the entire bottle of firewhiskey, they had limited themselves to two glasses apiece. The first glass was finished in a few deep swallows that left each young man gasping for breath as steam literally issued forth from their ears. The second glass was consumed at a much more reasonable pace, sipped a bit at a time as they sat, alternating in silence and almost whispered words of memories and hopes and fears of their younger friend and benefactor.

Finally, in late afternoon, they rose and left their rooms, walking slowly down the stairs and out into a now nearly deserted Diagon Alley. They made their way to Gringott's in search of their brother, Bill, but found him out when they asked for him at the bank. With nowhere else to go, they decided to go to the Leaky Cauldron and from there to the Burrow.

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Kingsley Shacklebolt was dead tired. Investigations into the Dursley deaths and the subsequent murder and abduction at Potter's home, coordination with the Ministry personnel charged with clean up and obliviation at the Dursley home, notification of Hestia Jones' next of kin -- all had kept him more than a little busy for the past many hours, and he felt like he was finally on the down side of a great emotional rollercoaster.

He had respected Harry Potter and liked the young man, and so felt personally at a loss over his death. (Though he wouldn't say this out loud, he saw no chance that Potter would survive.) He also felt some part of the public depression at the loss of a person who was a leader of the Light and an icon of hope for his world.

He snapped out of his morose ponderings, though, when the damned quill on the recording book started writing again. Hoping it was a minor incident he could hand over to another, he was shocked by the notation indicating a tremendous magical discharge at a place in Northern England . The event was so huge as to be without obvious explanation, but certainly of a sort that might well have been obvious to more than a few passing muggles. Swearing inventively enough that most men would be both impressed and shocked, he hurried over to the Director's office to speak with Amelia Bones and to set in motion a rapid response to the newest event.

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In a large concrete bunker with narrow slit windows overlooking a beach in the French province of Normandy, two young and not terribly bright wizards sat playing exploding snap. The concrete building was almost entirely buried, and, though large enough and magically repaired, still retained much of the feel of when it had been built as a shoreline defense of the Nazi's against the expected sea-borne assault of the occupied French motherland.

The bunker had all of the appropriate charms to repel muggle and wizard alike, to heat it and provide air circulation for the torches that had been affixed to the walls. The old ammunition locker had been converted into a private room to be used by these two wizards' master, should ever he again grace this safe house for any reason. Another room held cabinets with potions, and the muggle kitchen facilities had been converted for magic use. Overall, the edifice could house dozens easily, though these two rattled around alone for their shift of several days, waiting to be relieved in only four more days. This duty was a far cry from the visions of power and lust and dominance that had first attracted each of these youths to the service of their Dark Lord, but they dared not complain lest they find their lives even more miserable, if not significantly shortened.

And so it came to be that they were shocked enough by the loud "_crack!_" that signaled an apparition arrival to nearly fall out of their chairs. Turning, their shock didn't dissipate when they saw their own self-styled Lord appear, bloodied and with a giant stick impaling him. The just-arrived "man" seemed to be in a great deal of pain, and blood dripped out of his mouth. Clearly, he was injured far more than either could care for him, though both rushed to his side.

Voldemort whispered -- he had neither strength nor lung capacity to do otherwise -- and ordered that one should fetch the Healer and the other should get him a blood replenishment potion. The first of the young men vanished as bidden and the second stood and rushed off to the potion supply room to fetch the liquid that would, most unfortunately, save the life of the man/monster lying on the hard concrete floor.

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Dean Thomas was a very happy young man. Ginny Weasley was a truly inspired kisser, a fact that he had known before but most definitely just confirmed. She had a way about applying suntan lotion that had relaxed his muscles and tensed him up in a very particular way, all at the same time. And the snogging session they had enjoyed in the dunes had been what he might consider one of the best times he had ever had in his entire life.

Although Dean hadn't put his shirt back on for the walk back from the beach to the cottage they were staying in with his parents, Ginny had slipped the over-large t-shirt on over her swimming costume for the short trek back. She, too, had enjoyed their hugging and kissing and light petting, though she had been forced to calm the young man, now holding her hand, down a couple of times to keep things from getting too out of hand.

As she walked, Ginny wondered what she really thought of the boy walking with her. She knew she liked him, that he was kind and artistic and mostly pretty thoughtful. Her thoughts turned for a moment to another young man she, in honesty with herself, admitted she still fancied quite a bit. A young man with messy black hair, vivid green eyes, and his own type of kindness wrapped around a core of steely resolve.

Before she could start doing a comparison of the two different young men, she stopped herself, slamming shut that door as she _knew_ Harry would never like her that way and she was _certain_ that a comparison would be unfair to her current boyfriend, whom she admitted stood no real chance of stacking up to an enigma called Harry Potter. Instead, she smiled and hummed a little to herself as they continued their walk back to the little house for their last night before returning from the short holiday.

S s S s S

Cornelius Fudge was very, very unhappy. The reappearance of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the very halls of the Ministry was not seen by the Wizarding public as a strong testament to his credibility, given his fervent insistence that Voldemort had not, in fact, returned. After many days besieged by owls bearing irate letters and insistent questioning by a now not so compliant press, things had started to quiet down a bit and he thought he might actually retain his position.

Then Harry Potter had gone missing

earlier that day, and things had rapidly gone from bad to worse. The press was clamoring for his time and attention, desperate to know what the Ministry would do and how they could be safe if even "The Chosen One" was not.

As he stormed through the halls of the Ministry to try to find his private secretary, Percy Weasley, he cursed himself for letting the pompous little git actually speak with the press. He had thought that the boy would have the common sense to put the press off, offering bland statements that the Ministry was working diligently to locate Potter and making inroads into the core base of the Death Eaters. Of course, such statements were absolutely false, but would have gone a long way in slowing down the whirling carousel of public opinion.

"The Minister is much too busy to deal with the safety of one little boy, " Percy had said. In one utterance, recorded and now replayed over the WWN, Weasley had managed to skewer Fudge's political career. And if there was one thing Fudge was intent on doing, it was returning the favor.

Shoving Percy's door open, he saw the thin man (who really did look rather like a weasel) and shouted at him, calling him names Percy Weasley would have to look up in a dictionary later that evening. Fudge took cold comfort in firing the man, calling him incompetent and, in a quote that would make the Daily Prophet the next day, a "brown-nosing, insufferable Hippogriff's arse." (Oddly enough, Fudge received an owl the next day complaining about his disparagement of Hippogriffs, of all things!)

Fudge took special pleasure in having Ministry security stuff Weasley's things into a bag and escort him publicly through the halls and out through the Atrium, in full view of the press and all of his former co-workers. He then returned to his office to begin packing his own things with slightly more dignity than he had afforded his former secretary.

S s S s S

Harry Potter "popped" into the dusty, dingy basement kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The room was exceedingly dark, and the house felt as empty and abandoned as it was.

He moved few steps forward and whispered a quiet, "Lumos." The torches on the wall guttered to life, casting shadows around the room, and Harry moved to sit, exhausted, at one of the benches that sat on either side of the long and rough kitchen table.

Twisting his head around, Harry saw stacked dishes on the counter next to the large porcelain sink and tea makings still sitting at the end of the table. He turned the other way and looked at the large fireplace and noticed the missing jar of floo powder, and with a sinking feeling realized he was not just a floo call away from Dumbledore.

S s S s S

Remus Lupin sat tiredly on a stool at the bar in the Three Broomsticks. He nursed a firewhiskey slowly, holding it between the palms of his hands and slowly rotating the glass. He had sought out a few werewolves of his acquaintance in the hopes that one might have heard some rumblings or something. Given the nature of the wizarding world's treatment of werewolves, few could tread the straight and narrow path, and even those who didn't follow Voldemort danced close to the precipice of wrong and right, dabbling in varying shades of gray as a necessary way of earning their way and finding a place to live.

As he had expected, no one he spoke with had heard anything. He had dutifully checked in with Dumbledore and learned that no one knew anything. Absent anything better to do or anywhere better to go, and certainly absent anyone to sit or speak with, Remus had wandered dispiritedly down the path from Hogwarts and into Hogsmeade.

Remus raised the glass to his lips and took a slow sip of the amber liquid, enjoying the burn it caused in his mouth and all the way down his throat, reminding him that he was still alive. Overall, he felt numb, alone and bereft, wondering where else his life journey might lead him and what more horrors he might be forced to endure, losing one after another of those he felt close to and somehow being the only one left all alone. He hoped against hope that this would not again be the case, that he might yet again see his best friends' son and godson.

S s S s S

Healer Jeremy Franklin had just returned from his shift at St. Mungos and entered his flat in London when a "crack" alerted him to the arrival of a wizard. Turning to face the sound, he saw a young man in long black cloaks and wondered what he would be called upon to do that evening. The young Death Eater wouldn't tell him where he was to go; only that it was at the command of the Dark Lord personally, which did nothing to calm the young Healer's nerves. Grasping his kit firmly, he reached out to the portkey proffered to him and was lost in the spin of colors and sights until he landed with a soft "thud" in a place he had never been before -- a very cold and uninviting place.

Another young man was there, too, and ushered him quickly down a hallway, passing metal doors on either side, and then into a large room that held a bed in the center of the room. On the bed was a sight that startled and even scared Franklin. The Dark Lord -- still bleeding, a great wooden stick protruding from his chest, looking deathly pale -- lay there.

Moving quickly across the empty space to the bed, Franklin waved his wand over the figure before him and blanched -- his Master was close to death and Franklin was smart enough to know that, no matter how difficult the task that lay before him, his failure would translate into his own death. Uttering, "station!" and flipping his wand, he cast a spell over the barely breathing body in front of him to slow its life processes, and then moved quickly to further stabilize his patient.

After Voldemort's breathing and pulse came almost to a stop, Franklin moved to remove the splintered wood staff from the chest of his master, pulling it out slowly using his wand. The reduced pulse kept blood from flowing out too quickly, but there was still great danger as the blood replenishment potion would act as slowly as the patient's metabolism.

After the post was gone, he moved to cast sterilizing charms over the opening, and then to heal the wounds to blood vessels and the punctured lung. He hadn't the time to ensure that all the splinters might be removed, and knew there might be some infection or festering that could occur from what was left behind; he could have dearly used assistance but there was none to be had.

After healing the worst of the internal injuries, Franklin cast a spell to heal the skin both front and back, and then crossed the room to a potions cabinet. He took several doses of different potions and, after removing the stasis spell, forced each vial of potion in turn down his Master's throat.

Exhausted, he shuffled to the side of the room and sank into an uncomfortable chair that sat there. The two young men, both of whom had been watching the procedures, looked at him and the taller of the two -- he realized he didn't even know their names, much less where he was -- quirked an eyebrow as if to ask a question.

"He is alive," Franklin said. "Whether he will live, I cannot say. His injuries are very serious, and it was a close thing. I think he will not wake for some time yet."

Both of the young men nodded, and remained standing across the room, wands in hand. No one in the room knew what to do next.

S s S s S

Ron was completely baffled by the muggle market that the Granger's had taken him to. The language was unusual, the open air market strange, the baffling cacophony of noises unusual, and the food absolutely weird. The open market in Frejus sold vegetables and fruits he'd not seen before, as well as a multitude of fresh breads and seafood that he had never imagined. He might have been panicked, or utterly befuddled and lost, had not the pretty, bushy-haired witch at his side held his hand. The warmth and comfort he garnered from that contact muted the world around him sufficiently that he could simply drink it in and enjoy it and Hermione's enjoyment of it.

Hermione was, as Ron had so aptly noted in their fourth year, a girl. Many of the less subtle attributes of stereotypical "girly" behavior puzzled or even annoyed her: she didn't enjoy the rumors of who did what to whom over what, nor the giggle-fits her roommates had over the latest luscious boy or hottest hairstyle. She did, however, harbor some of the same hopes for that special boy to notice her, and maybe even hold her hand. She had long hoped that Ron might at least remember that she was a girl, and it seemed that, finally, he had. She fought to keep the smile on her face from becoming so wide as to call attention to herself. She held on tight though, and he held on as fast, and she felt more right than she had in ever so long.

Bill and Jane Granger held hands, too, in the relaxed and comfortable way that couples long together and in love do. Their fingers intertwined and then released, almost playing a game with each other, and they moved between stalls, selecting different products to bring along with them to the villa that was a few miles up into the hills. Neither missed the held hands, smiles and furtive glances between their daughter and her erstwhile boyfriend, and Jane even commented on the blossoming of young love.

Smirking at the thought, Bill stopped in front of a stall that seemed to offer up some of the freshest seafood in the South of France. Speaking in French with the purveyor, he bought some white fish to grill on the barbeque that he knew the villa to have, and then added two dozen oysters, which caught his wife's eye. He shook his head at her questioning look, and she shrugged slightly.

As they wandered through the stalls, he found bread and cheese, fresh vegetables and seasonings, and finally they were finished with their purchases. Leading the kids down a couple of cobblestone streets, they reached their Renault and stowed the purchases in the boot. Bill seated himself behind the wheel and steered the car down the narrow streets and off a now asphalt-paved road, around a couple of traffic circles and up towards the mountains. Less than fifteen minutes later, he pulled over at a small crossroads and, motioning the rest to wait in the car, moved into a small market. Minutes later, he came back out with a couple of bags and stowed them, too, in the car's boot. From there, he drove them up a small and winding roadway into the hills of eastern Provence.

S s S s S

Arthur and Molly Weasley had welcomed their twin sons when they fell out of the fire. In a most characteristic fashion, Molly had hugged each close and moved to the kitchen to start preparing a feast that would feed an army. In a most uncharacteristic fashion, the twins had quietly accepted the hugs and the proffered glasses of firewhiskey from their father. In a thoroughly unprecedented event, Molly hadn't commented or objected at all.

The quiet clanging and slight clatter from the kitchen indicated that Molly Weasley was in her element and engaged in the therapy that would work best for her. Arthur, Fred and George stayed in the lounge, each cupping their glass as they sat in front of the fire. Fred spoke first, "I still can't believe all the bad luck that Harry has."

George carried on, " He really hasn't done anything to deserve all this, and now . . ."

The unfinished thought expressed all their thoughts. Now what? Where and how was Harry? And why did it have to be him, again?

As the men sat in the lounge, sharing each others quiet company, Molly chopped and peeled and cut, and then started cooking and stirring and seasoning. She could hear murmurs from the other room as she worked, and, as she thought introspectively, she gave herself over to the calming effect of the task before her.

At first she had been shocked and disturbed by the news about Harry, finding herself despairing for the young man. Such a nice, polite child, he had been so ill treated in life and deserved so much more than he had been given. She worried about him, and a large part of her wanted nothing more than to hold and comfort him.

A niggling part of her, though, also felt some relief that her own children were off, safe, away from Harry. She berated herself for a moment over this thought, and then turned over the idea that, though he was not responsible for and had no hand in the problems that seemed to swirl around him, they existed in any event. She finally reconciled herself with the thought that, no matter how much she cared for the young man, she was glad that her family wasn't near and had emerged relatively unscathed.

S s S s S

The investigative team sent to the site of the enormous outburst of magic was astounded by the devastation that met them. There had obviously been an extremely large house at the location, but nearly nothing remained. Part of one wall still stood, and much of the structure had pancaked somehow into the large stone basement below. Upon further examination, they had noted that the floor of the main structure (and the ceiling of the basement) had been a thick stone. As they had started magically moving debris aside, they had been astounded to find multiple severely injured and dead Death Eaters.

Nearly two dozen Aurors swarmed around the scene, sifting through stone and splintered lumber. Blood samples were taken, injured Death Eaters transported to secure medical facilities and the dead were laid out for later transport. Foremost amongst the dead was a Wizard found in the basement, almost welded to the wall, long blonde hair an immediately identifiable distinguishing feature. In short order, the unannounced escape of Lucius Malfoy from Azkaban would set off an investigation that would continue the long day and well into and through the night.

From a copse of trees in the distance, a slightly deranged Bellatrix Lestrange looked on, not knowing what to do now that her Master had seemingly disappeared for a second time. She swore revenge on the Potter brat, whom she knew somehow was responsible for the disaster she beheld.

S s S s S

Ginny Weasley was enjoying her last evening off on holiday with her boyfriend and his parents. She had come to appreciate muggles quite a bit during the brief break these few days had afforded her. Sitting close to Dean in a booth, enjoying a "Coke" and munching on an odd pastry with tomato and cheese they called a "pizza," she couldn't help but marvel at the variety of things available to those that magical folk thought odd or inferior. Though they couldn't do magic, they had adapted with an amazing inventiveness. She had, of course, seen some of muggle society (both through personal experience and the somewhat tinted version of things her father offered up), but was quite impressed by the variety and vitality it offered.

Dean reached his arm around Ginny's shoulder and squeezed her a little closer. She smiled, and looked up at him, earning a smile in return. This was nice, she thought, a nice guy with parents that accepted her. New things and a lot of fun. Life could definitely be worse.

S s S s S

Amelia Bones had thought that life couldn't get more difficult.

She was wrong.

She had hoped to go home at some point that night, but had given up any such hope when she heard Kingsley explaining about the huge magical explosion. First reports from the scene had confirmed that it would be a long and difficult night.

Fudge's decision to pack his bags and leave, with a short letter of resignation distributed to Department Heads after his departure, had thrown the entire Ministry into confusion.

As required by law, the Ministry was now in the hands of a triumvirate of senior officials, pending appointment of an interim Minister by the Wizengamot. Bones and Paulson from Treasury, as the two most senior Department Heads, were on the Ministerial Committee, now headed by Senior Undersecretary Delores Umbridge.

She had no doubt that the Wizengamot would meet almost immediately, but the idea of working with that toad, Umbridge, sickened her. She thoroughly disliked the woman and lately questioned her sanity. Moreover, she had hardly the time to oversee the continuing developments in her Department, and so felt pulled in far too many directions at one time.

Sighing to herself, she gulped down the cup of Pepper-Up potion and, swatting away the steam coming out of her ears, turned to the next report on her desk.

S s S s S

Harry had been sitting for quite some time. Taking a deep breath, he rose, intent on going to the bedroom he and Ron had shared before to speak with the portrait of Phineas Nigellus and asking it to forward a message to Dumbledore.

Before he left the kitchen, though, he moved to the cooling cabinet, hoping he could find something to fill his stomach a bit. When he opened the door, he found a few scraps of food he thought might either be either a new plant life Neville would enjoy cultivating or a strange and fairly toxic ingredient for one of Snape's potions. And a bottle of Butterbeer. Pulling it out, he snapped open the cap and lifted it to his lips, taking a big pull into his mouth. Resisting the temptation to finish it all immediately, he dropped his arm to his side but held on to the bottle.

He moved across the kitchen, opened the door and walked slowly up the stairs towards the ground floor landing. As he moved, the torches ahead of him lit dimly so he could see where he was going, whilst those behind dimmed and then flickered out.

His footsteps seemed to awaken the portrait of Mrs. Black ahead of him. She started screaming about mudbloods and blood traitors, her words echoing loudly through the house, and raising Harry's temper as he moved up the stairs.

At the landing, he turned and moved to the Entrance Hall and the staircase up to the bedrooms. The curtains in front of Sirius' mother were open and her venom rang throughout the House of Black. Fire seemed to fill Harry's blood as he moved in front of the portrait, and she quieted and stared at him as he stood there, bloody and dirty and naked, his eyes glowing a bright green and a soft golden glow surrounding him.

She opened her mouth and Harry didn't hear a work of the vile that spilled forth. Instead, his eyes narrowed and he spoke, "May you burn in Hell!"

Harry, and by all appearances Mrs. Black., were surprised to see the wisps of smoke and then flame lick across the portrait. Before she could scream, the canvas was engulfed in flame, and then the ashes fell to the floor, as a few blew about in the breeze created by the short but intense fire. Where there had been a picture, there now was a frame surrounding a scorched bit of plaster.

Harry was for a moment aghast, then he thought of Sirius and how happy he would be, and how proud, and he felt both a pang of guilt and sadness mixed with warmth from the thought of his godfather's imagined approval.

He turned and headed up the steps to the first floor, and he walked through the door of the bedroom where he knew the painting to hang.

Or, rather, where the painting had hung.

In its place was a lighter patch of wallpaper, enhancing the grunginess of the rest of the room.

"_Well," _he thought, "_there goes plan B. Now what do I do?"_

He looked around for a moment, and saw nothing to use.

And so he decided to do exactly what, if you had asked him the day before, he never wanted to do. He decided to go to Sirius' room.

Walking back to the staircase, he turned and trudged up the steps to the second floor. He didn't know what he would find, never having entered Sirius' room before, but thought it might have the best clue to how he should proceed.

He entered the room, which spanned the entire front of the house facing the park across the street. Harry looked around. He knew that Sirius had hated the room, and the house and his family. But to him, he couldn't imagine having so much space. Two windows opened out to the street and park. On the right there was a fireplace, with two wing back chairs and a sofa facing it and between them all, a large, sturdy table; near the window was a small table with four dining chairs.

To the right, against the other window, was a large desk with a chair looking out, and in the corner a comfortable looking leather chair. Closer to the door was a large sleigh bed, and against the wall on his left and behind him a door.

Harry looked around the room, taking in the clutter on the desk, the magazines on the table in front of the cold fireplace, and the scattered clothing on the bed.

This is what Sirius left, as he left it, and Harry couldn't help but feel the interrupted life, the unfinished business and meaning, that permeated the room, He felt at once the urgent need to flee the pain, and the strong pull of being where his godfather lived and belonged. The lingering smells and feel and memories threatened to overwhelm Harry until he took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and decided he needed to get on with what he had to do and find a way to . . . where?

Though he didn't know where, he knew he couldn't just hide there without anyone knowing what he was doing or where he was. He moved to the open doorway on the left, and looked through it. Inside, he saw a closet on the right around the corner, and a bathroom beyond. Suddenly, he felt a pull to the idea of using the facilities and moved into the room, leaving the bottle of Butterbeer on a counter and finding relief.

He went back to get the bottle and looked into the mirror. What he saw sickened him at first, what with the dirt and blood. But then he stopped and looked a little closer and realized what was missing. The knife cut Bellatrix had made down his chest was gone. The blood was there, but there was no cut, no broken skin.

Harry raised his right hand to his chest, unbelieving, and touched where there should have been a wound and found nothing but smooth skin. He couldn't help but smile, and shook his head. He didn't know what had happened, or rather how it had happened, but this was good news.

He didn't know what to do next, really, and so stood there for a minute. As they are want to do, the magic mirror weighed in with its thoughts, saying, "My dear, you are a fright! You really must do something to clean up before you are seen in public."

Although Harry had found mirrors' comments in the past to be mostly annoying, he found himself agreeing for once with the sentiments expressed by one. Looking at himself, he realized that however or wherever he went, he had best be cleaner and, preferably, dressed.

Harry looked at the large, open shower and shivered for a moment. Then he looked at the large bath tub and felt the remaining aches in his muscles. "_Maybe,"_ he thought, "_a relaxing bath will let me think about what to do next._" He moved to the tub and twisted one of the many brass taps.

The floral scent that wafted to his nose made him shut the tap off immediately. He tried a few more, settling on one that had a scent of wood and spice. He set it at a slow fill rate, and then moved to the shower. He turned the tap on and, ignoring the creepy feeling that memories of his last shower left him, stepped in. He quickly covered himself in soap suds and then rinsed off, and then stepped the couple of steps to lower himself into the still-filling tub. As the tub reached a full level, the water magically stopped flowing, leaving him in a warm and slightly sudsy bath with a comfortable and masculine scent filling the air.

Harry settled back into the tub, appreciating the soft comfort of a magical bath's porcelain side. His thoughts turned to what he should do next, with the need to contact someone without exposing himself too much in the process. (Harry chuckled to himself when he thought about the different ways that was a problem to be addressed.)

S s S s S

Delores Umbridge smiled to herself, boxing prized possessions to be moved to the Minister's office. She was quite certain that in the power vacuum that had resulted from Fudge's hasty resignation and retreat she would emerge as the next Minister (Ministress?) for Magic. Delores had never suffered from an overabundance of self doubt.

Of course, it would be unseemly to try to usurp the office for herself so soon, but she fully expected to emerge from the fractious political situation as the best compromise candidate. Once appointed to the rest of the former Minister's term, she thought that she would be able to pursue her own agenda more easily than she had when that fool Fudge had been in charge. He had stymied her efforts to expand restrictions on non-human magical creatures. She would certainly be able to strengthen Ministry control over a variety of areas of magical life, more firmly entrenching her authority and enabling her to trade favors and money for dispensations and loopholes that would favor her for years to come.

And to think, she thought, that she owed it to Potter! She loathed the little show-off brat and his challenges to Ministry authority. The anti-Death eater sentiment would turn people away from the political forces that would traditionally be seen as aligned too strongly with pure Blood agendas, while Fudge's mistakes emasculated his political block. And Dumbledore's attachment and failure to protect his protégé would weaken him and his supporters, too. Yes, Potter had done her a tremendous favor by getting himself kidnapped and killed, giving her a direct path past his popularity and into the Minister's office.

The giggles coming from her office were enough to sicken the stomachs of the strongest wizards and witches that were in hearing distance.

S s S s S

Severus Snape was very nervous. He had contacted, or rather attempted to contact, a number of Death Eaters. Malfoy was overdue, as was Crabbe. The last meeting location he had been to had been deserted, and of the few he had spoken with, no one had knowledge of the whereabouts of the Dark Lord. Moreover, he had noticed a slight fading of his Dark Mark and that meant that something important was going on and he had no idea what it was.

It was with this unfamiliar feeling of being out of control that he approached the stairs to the Headmaster's office. As was common during the summer holidays, the stone griffin that normally stood guard was already moved aside and the steps already ascended to the heavy oak door at the top; as such, he walked up the stairs and to the door of the office. Once at the top, he knocked twice and was immediately greeted with a summons from the Headmaster, calling, "Come in, Severus!"

Snape moved into the room, noticing that he and Dumbledore were alone, but for the Phoenix and a snow white owl which resided side by side on a perch in front of a window overlooking the Quiditch pitch. Snape broke the silence, addressing his mentor and friend, "Good evening, Albus."

"Severus, please, have a seat." The old wizard gestured to a seat in front of his desk, and, as Snape took his seat, he was offered a lemon drop, which he politely declined.

Albus continued, "Forgive me for being direct, Severus, but have you heard anything?"

The potions master took a deep breath, and then plowed into his report, no matter how disappointed he knew the old man would be. "Nothing, I'm afraid. Those I could speak with know nothing. Our last meeting place was abandoned, and in speaking with Narcissa I have learned that Lucius is overdue."

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "I think he will be much more than overdue."

Snape quirked his eye, and Dumbledore continued, "There was a very large magical discharge not long ago. Investigating Aurors discovered a completely destroyed manor home. Several injured Death Eaters and seeming several dead were amongst the rubble. Lucius has been identified as one of the dead."

At this news, Snape's head snapped up and he looked directly at his mentor. "Yes, Severus, they now know that Lucius had escaped Azkaban. I expect that Aurors will soon be visiting both the prison and Mrs. Malfoy. She may find their inquiry to be somewhat . . . disruptive."

Snape thought for a moment and then asked, "Do we know what caused this explosion?"

"No, I am afraid we have no idea. I can say that there was no sign of Harry, dead, injured or . . . pieces," Albus answered.

"There is one more thing, Albus," Snape continued his report. "My Dark Mark has faded somewhat. I dare not inquire of others, and certainly do not know what it means, but I would speculate that the Dark Lord is somehow weakened significantly, though I will say this is nothing like what it was after that Halloween."

Dumbledore smiled a bit then, for the first time in a great many hours, and thanked his spy and friend, "Thank you, Severus. That, at least is good news, and the first of the day." Dumbledore sighed, and settled back in his seat a bit.

Sensing that the meeting was at an end, Snape rose, and excused himself, "If you have no further need of me then, I think I shall retire to my quarters."

Dumbledore was clearly distracted, but turned to the other man and nodded. "Thank you for everything, Severus. I know if you hear more, or think of anything else, you will let me know. Go, rest. Be well, my friend."

Snape bowed his head in deference to the Headmaster, and, bidding him good evening, exited the room. As he walked down the steps, he heard the gentle, soothing music of Phoenix song and, despite his dislike of the Potter child, felt a touch of sadness for the evident sorrow and exhaustion of Albus Dumbledore.

S s S s S

As it got later, Fred and George looked at each other and turned to their father, who was sitting, slumped and older looking than they had seen him in some time. "Dad," George said, "we'd best be heading home now."

The oldest Weasley looked up and seemed about to protest when Fred continued, "Need to get ready for business tomorrow and all."

"Harry would want us to continue on and all."

"Musn't disappoint the public and all that."

"Anyway, Harry said he wanted to see the shop and we have to be ready."

Arthur rose and pulled his sons into a fatherly hug. "I understand. Go, say goodnight to your mother. We'll talk tomorrow."

Fred and George disappeared into the kitchen and hugged Molly goodbye. As they made to leave, Arthur was exiting the back door, explaining he was going out to the shed to look over his battery collection. Molly didn't comment on the half-finished bottle of firewhiskey in his hands, nor did the twins.

Fred and George flooed back to their flat, and for some reason she couldn't explain, Molly Weasley decided to make a treacle tart before she retired for the evening.

S s S s S

Ron Weasley had enjoyed a most unusual evening.

Bill Granger had somehow been appointed chef du' jour and had set Ron to work as his assistant as the ladies relaxed out on the veranda.

Their villa was most comfortable. A small kitchen and functional bathroom with shower and claw-foot tub. A large room with a fireplace, rough-hewn dining table, and decent sized and comfortable sitting area filled the single, large all purpose room. Two sets of French doors opened to the large veranda with charcoal grill, table, lounge and chairs. Also on the bottom floor was the master bedroom with water closet that the elder Grangers occupied, and a smaller bedroom with small veranda that Hermione had claimed. Up some steps was a loft-like bedroom for Ron with an open railing over the main room, a large bed, and a balcony that looked over the dense woods at the back of the house.

Bill had shown Ron how to shuck the oysters and confided the muggle view of their aphrodisiac properties. Bill had also thoroughly enjoyed the bright red blush this confidence had invoked.

They had dined on raw oysters and bright and crisp blush wine, Ron having his first glass of that particular libation. Though not his favorite food, he had consumed more than a couple of the oysters after seeing the smiling look of happiness Hermione had displayed as he ate the first without her prompting. They were much better with a glass of wine and a pretty girl's smile to encourage you.

Ron had genuinely enjoyed the simple, grilled white fish with fresh tomatoes and other vegetables and a pureed potato on the side. Desert of a variety of cheeses and fresh fruit, with a sweet wine was unlike any of the sweets he had before, and further opened his eyes to non-traditional British food.

At the end of dinner, they all adjourned to the veranda, taking seats around the glass-topped table. The twilight, chirping insects and soft breeze blended with the easy conversation and slight buzz from the unaccustomed wine combined to leave Ron almost relaxed in the unusual atmosphere.

S s S s S

As the water cooled, Harry decided it was time to make some decisions. So far, everything he had done had been reactive. Now, he thought over what steps to take next.

First, he couldn't just stay here and hope that eventually someone would find him. He had consumed the last of the food, and a bottle of Butterbeer, no matter how tasty, wasn't sufficient to see him through a very long stay. And, he didn't know what was going on in the outside world.

So, he had to go somewhere.

He thought of the Burrow, or the Ministry, or maybe the twins' store. And rejected each in turn. He didn't want to go to the Burrow, both as a result of the Howler from Mrs. Weasley and his desire not to walk into a place where he might expose those he cared about to further risk. For the same reason, he rejected the idea of somehow showing up in the middle of Diagon Alley and pounding on the likely now closed doors of the Weasley twins' shop. He rejected the idea of going to the Ministry mostly because he couldn't think of a single person there he would trust but Arthur Weasley, and that brought him back to the issue of the Burrow as well as the difficulty of actually getting to Arthur Weasley. Especially since he thought it was now after normal hours. Finally, the thought of returning to the place where his godfather had so recently died was more than a little discomforting.

It had to be Hogwarts.

Deciding he had to go out, Harry next decided he had to get dressed, and as a logical conclusion resolved himself to finding clothes from amongst Sirius' things. That idea was only slightly less disconcerting than the idea of going traipsing about the countryside starkers.

Finally, the question of how to get there. He couldn't think of more than a few ways. Walk to the Leaky Cauldron and floo. No, this brought him too far into the public eye without knowing what was going on.

Summoning the Knight's Bus would be attractive if he had the wand needed to summon it.

Or, apparition. He had no training, but a very visible success. He was at Grimmauld place because he had done it. As he thought it over, he was confident he could replicate the procedure, and so determined to do so.

Harry got out of the tub and toweled dry with one of the thick, soft towels that he'd found in the bathroom. He moved to Sirius' closet to find something to wear, pushing down the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him, reminding himself he had to do this and that Sirius would want and expect him to do so. He found some black trousers, and a black, long sleeve shirt. He found boots and a belt and carried them all out to the bedroom, laying them on the bed and then dressed himself. He sat for a long minute on the side of the bed, and then resolved to move forward. Before apparating, he decided to look more wizardly, and found and put on a soft, summer-weight robe of a light gray with a black piping around the hems.

Dressed, he moved back into the bathroom to try to flatten his hair, more out of habit than care or expectation of success. Standing in front of the mirror, he saw himself clearly looking back. The clothing fit well -- better than he would have thought. And then it struck him: he could see himself clearly, without his glasses. He had seen better since he got to Sirius' old house than he had before, even with the old glasses he had worn for years. And the clothing fit better than it should have -- though a little large, it was not nearly as long on him as he would have thought, given how much taller Sirius had been than him only a few months before.

Shaking himself, he ignored the mirror's comment that he looked good, but should try to do something about his hair. He resolved to not worry about these small mysteries and instead to get on with what was important.

Finally, he took a long, deep breath. He focused on the basement of Honeyduke's, reaching out with his mind. He saw it, felt it -- the basement was empty of people but filled with boxes, a thick layer of dust on the floor, very dim lighting. He willed himself there and, with the softest of "pops" he disappeared from the old Headquarters Of the Order of Phoenix.

S s S s S

Amelia Bones carried a search warrant personally to her impromptu meeting with Albus Dumbledore. In his newly reinstated role as head of the Wizengamot, his signature would permit investigation of Malfoy Manor and the freeze on their financial assets, pending a determination of the possible involvement of his wife in the now proven escape and hiding of the convict Lucius Malfoy, deceased. The next of kin would be notified very early the next morning at the same time the search warrant was served.

Amelia had also authorized an inspection of Azkaban for the next morning to ascertain the circumstances concerning Malfoy's presence at the exploded house rather than in his cell, where the Ministry had believed him still to be.

Dumbledore greeted the stern woman to his office at Hogwarts, taking her hand as she stepped gracefully from the fire. Madame Bones couldn't help but notice how tired and worn the old wizard looked, and felt an immediate sympathy for him.

She presented the search warrant to him after declining the obligatory offer of a lemon drop. Albus looked it over for a moment and then signed and sealed it, dripping gold wax on it and impressing the Seal of the Wizengamot into the wax.

They discussed the next day. Umbridge had called a meeting of the Ministerial Committee at ten o'clock the next morning, to "prepare" for the Wizengamot meeting scheduled at 2:00 that afternoon.

After a few trivialities, Bones said her goodbyes to return to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, dropping paperwork off and then returning home for a short night.

Dumbledore settled in front of the fire in his office, a cup of tea in had and the soft crooning of his familiar, Fawkes.

S s S s S

As the evening wound down, Ron leaned over to Hermione and asked if she would like to take a short walk. Smiling at him, she readily agreed. They stood and excused themselves to Bill and Jane, and then strolled quietly down the gentle slope in front of the house, Ron holding Hermione's hand gently.

Ron felt extremely nervous, holding the hand of the girl he fancied. He'd never done such a thing before. By the same token, it somehow felt good and right. They walked a ways in quiet contemplation, the bright stars and moon lighting the path adequately. Ron thought of the hugs and comfort they'd shared earlier that day and steeled his resolve. If he couldn't talk to Hermione now, his best friend for years, he couldn't ever. He knew it.

At the end of the short path, they settled onto a bench, sitting close to one another. The bench looked over a shallow valley, lights of other houses twinkling. He turned and spoke softly, "Hermione, you've meant so much to me over the years. You've been the best possible friend, helped me when I needed it and been there through so much."

She answered, "And you've been there for me whenever it counted. I know we've had our disagreements, but I couldn't ask for a better friend. Thank you, Ron." He smiled back at her and took both her hands in his. Looking deeply into her eyes, he whispered, "I'd like to try to be more than just friends. Do you think you could see that? Could you be my girlfriend?"

She wrenched her hands out of his and he felt a moment of panic, and then he was engulfed in the best hug he'd ever had in his life. Hermione wrapped her arms around him and buried her head against his shoulder, and he held her back tight. She seemed to shudder and he didn't know if she was crying or laughing, but it felt nice to have this pretty girl in his arms.

A minute later, she pulled back with tears still on her cheeks and Ron smiled a little. "Does this mean yes?" he teased and she nodded her head, until he moved his hand up and stroked her cheek gently. She looked up into his eyes and then, as he leaned in, they each closed their eyes and kissed tenderly for the first time.

Up the hill, Jane commented that they didn't have to worry about the new couple getting along for the holiday. Bill's only comment was that they had to worry about them getting along too well.

S s S s S

In the dusty storeroom of the Hogsmeade candy shop, Harry felt around for the trap door he knew was there. Fingers finding the small indentation, he pulled the door open. Listening for any hint of sound above or around him and hearing nothing, he moved down the steps and closed the door above him, plunging himself into darkness.

Frowning for a moment, he raised his hand and thought to himself, "Lumos!" A soft ball of light rose up and hung above him, and seeing now down the tunnel he moved quickly over the rough floor toward the castle.

At the end of the tunnel, he walked up the steep stairs and pulled himself out through the witch statue's hump. He extinguished his ball of light and listened intently for a moment. Hearing nothing, he moved quietly through the halls, listening every few moments for any sound of approaching footsteps. He didn't fear anyone he might meet here, but would rather see Dumbledore than anyone else, and truly dreaded the idea of dealing with Filch, or worse still, Snape.

He crossed paths with no one, though on the way to the Headmaster's office. There was no sign even of any of the castle ghosts or Mrs. Norris, and so found himself soon at the entrance to Dumbledore's office, looking at the stone griffin and beyond to the steps standing stationary and waiting for him. And he realized that his well thought out plan could have had him sitting in an empty hall indefinitely with no idea what password would gain him admittance to the Headmaster's office.

Shrugging to himself, he climbed up the stairs. He paused at the top and, hearing nothing, knocked on the door.

Albus Dumbledore roused slowly from his nap, the teacup he had held on the floor in front of him. He shook his head, a little befuddled. He hadn't intended to fall asleep and had the vague feeling something had awakened him, but couldn't at first tell what it was.

And Harry Potter, outside the door, was surprised that Dumbledore hadn't known he was coming, invited him in before he knocked and hadn't invited him in. The only reason he could think of was that the office was empty. Deciding he had nowhere better to wait, he twisted the door knob and pushed the door open.

Dumbledore had by that time stood up, and was walking back to his desk. Seeing the door open, he noticed a dark-haired, green eyed young wizard pushing the door open and started.

Harry walked in a step and, spying his Headmaster, spoke first, "Good evening, Professor." Before he could say another word, he was shocked and pleased to be engulfed in one of the most heart-felt hugs of his life.


	5. Return

_ Harry walked in a step and, spying his Headmaster, spoke first, "Good evening, Professor." Before he could say another word, he was shocked and pleased to be engulfed in one of the most heart-felt hugs of his life_.

Harry reached his arms around the elderly wizard, and patted his back gently. "Are you alright, sir?" he asked. It took him a few seconds to realize what caused the slight quaking in his headmaster, and then knew the old man was laughing silently. He stepped back and looked up at him. The twinkle in his blue eyes seemed to be working overtime, and Harry quirked a cockeyed grin up at him. "Are we laughing at me or with me?" he asked.

Dumbledore seemed unable to further restrain himself, and the quiet chuckles transformed into loud guffaws. He bent down then, and placed his hands on his knees as he seemed to be unable to contain himself.

Harry huffed loudly, but smiled more broadly. He said to the room in general, "Well, perhaps I shall enjoy the company of others who do not find me so amusing." With that, he strode further into the room and reached out to stroke Hedwig, who seemed overjoyed (and, truthfully, more than a little amused) at Harry's return. Next to her, Fawkes adopted a pleased look as well, and trilled a note of greeting that filled the air with even more warmth.

By this time, Dumbledore had regained himself and moved over to Harry, stopping beside him and laying a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Harry," he said, "of all the things I might have expected, even hoped for, an inquiry into my health was most assuredly not what I might have imagined. Happily, I am much better now than even a few minutes ago. And how, dear boy, are you?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, and Dumbledore moved his hand off Harry; it was not a rude gesture, though, obviously it was meant only to express Harry's ambivalence.

"In truth, Professor, I'm tired and I'm happy, I'm sad and at the same time I can't help but feel betrayed by the Dursleys'."

"And I'm hungry."

The last pronouncement made Dumbledore laugh again, and so he suggested, "What say we get a little food then, and talk in more detail?" Harry nodded his ascent, so Dumbledore summoned Dobby.

Dobby appeared and, in the calm and reserved manner for which house elves generally and Dobby in particular are known, launched himself at Harry's knees, sobbing hysterically, "Harry Potter is safe, sir! Harry Potter is coming back to Hogwarts and Dobby is seeing Harry Potter!"

Smiling, Harry knelt in front of the elf and drew him into a brief hug. "It's good to see you, too, Dobby. I've not had a chance to eat today, and Professor Dumbledore and I were wondering if you could scrounge up a little bit for us to eat, if that wouldn't be too much trouble?"

Dobby, smiling oddly and tears streaming down his cheeks, nodded fervently and agreed. "Dobby is bringing food to Harry Potter and Professor Dumbledore right away. Dobby is happy to help!" And he was gone as fast as he had arrived.

Dumbledore moved to a corner of the room which held a table and four side chairs, and beckoned Harry over. Harry sat, but Dumbledore did not. He looked at Harry and said, "I really must notify people that you are safe, Harry. Many are out looking for you. I would like to speak to you of what has occurred after, but some notice must, I think, be given."

Harry understood, and nodded his ascent. As Harry sat, the Headmaster approached the fireplace and, throwing flue powder in, called out, "MLE Office!" He put this head into the fire, and Harry heard him ask for Director Bones. A couple of minutes later, just after a beaming Dobby had put platters of food and a pitcher of pumpkin juice on the table, he heard Dumbledore offer no explanation for Harry's reappearance, but did confirm it for her. As Dumbledore's head was in the fire at the MLE office, he didn't hear her response.

As soon as that call had taken place, Dumbledore looked to Harry, who was waiting patiently. "Harry, I'll be only a minute longer, but please, eat. I'll catch up!"

Again Harry nodded, and again Dumbledore threw floo powder into the fire, this time calling out for Minerva McGonagall. The conversation that followed was short, Dumbledore letting her know he had returned but that no details were yet available. Harry did note that Dumbledore asked his Head of House to alert other key members of the Order that evening. Shortly, Dumbledore joined Harry as Harry was taking a second sandwich from the platter Dobby had left behind.

Harry looked down, and asked his mentor, "How did it happen, sir? Did Aunt Petunia really, well, give me over to Voldemort?"

Albus Dumbledore's mood took a turn for the worse. "Yes Harry, I am afraid she did. Only her betrayal of you could have collapsed the wards set to protect you. She, your uncle, and cousin, were killed, seemingly shortly after they drove off from your home." He frowned. "Only your Aunt's willing agreement could have brought the blood protections around your home down so quickly, which is confirmed by the virtually immediate appearance of Death Eaters on your doorstep."

If it was possible, Albus looked even more nonplused. "I must admit, Harry, that although you have not enjoyed the best of relations with your family, I did not foresee this eventuality, and so my decision that it was best for you to return to them was obviously a mistake. For that, I am truly sorry."

Harry looked at the greatest wizard of the age sitting in front of him, humbled by his mistake, and smiled gently. "I cannot accept that this is in any way your fault, sir, and so there is neither need for your apology nor my acceptance of it. I've lived with my relatives for years, and even I didn't see this coming -- there's simply no way you could have, either. You explained why I had to go back to them, and I went -- of my own accord and free will."

Dumbledore nodded, and a bit of the sparkle returned to is bright, blue eyes. "Thank you, Harry." He pulled himself up taller in his chair, and continued, "What can you tell me about your ordeal?"

Harry had just taken another bite of his sandwich, and so used the lull in conversation as he chewed to consider how best to proceed. Finally, swallowing, he decided on the direct approach. "How much of this will you discuss with others?" he asked.

Albus sat back at such an unexpected answer. "I will likely share most if not all of it with the Order, I should think, and that which is necessary with the Ministry."

"I'm afraid that is not acceptable," Harry answered, looking directly into the older man's eyes with a determination that Dumbledore had not seen before. "As you have said before, this is war. And in war, information is carefully shared, only when and with whom necessary."

"_Ah,_" Albus thought, "_that's what this is all about._" Breathing in, he said, "Harry, this is information they will need to do their jobs, that Professor Snape will need to know in dealing with your situation."

And Harry thought, "_He thinks this is only about some personal vendetta._" "No, sir, this is not _only_ about Snape. I think it unwise generally to share too much information."

" _Professor _ Snape, Harry. I have to be able to decide what to tell other members of the Order, and I must insist that you trust Professor Snape."

Reigning in his frustration, Harry took another bite of his sandwich, and let the Headmaster wait. After swallowing, he sipped at his pumpkin juice before answering. "As to _Snape_, I see no reason to trust him . . ."

Before Harry could finish, Dumbledore cut him off, "Harry, as I hope you trust me, then I must ask, insist even, that you trust Professor Snape."

Again, Harry fixed Dumbledore in his gaze, and again Dumbledore saw determination, and this time a power that held him transfixed for a moment. Shaking himself slightly, he listened to Harry's response, "I do trust you, sir, as much as I trust anyone. But that doesn't mean that I can simply surrender my own judgment to yours, or my own right to think and not to blindly follow anyone -- even you."

And then Harry asked the question that had been stewing in his mind for some time, "Let me ask, Professor, _do you trust me _?"

vvv

Amelia Bones felt overwhelming relief. Potter had returned; although she had no details, she was confident in the few words she had received from Headmaster Dumbledore, and so happily called off the search for him. In truth, little was being done to try to actively find him -- there were other problems to deal with (including the aftermath of the tremendous magical explosion earlier that day). She had been prepared to return home momentarily, anyway, and this let her provide a little relief to her troops. The raid on Malfoy Manor was scheduled for 5:00 am the next morning, when all self-respecting Purebloods would be home, asleep and hopefully suffering from the excesses they had enjoyed the night before, this was when the DMLE scheduled their most important or dangerous raids.

Stepping through the fire, Amelia asked her elf, Blinky, to wake her at half four with coffee and toast. She would be in the office at the time of the raid, no matter how tired she was.

vvv

Finally, Bill Granger had called out to the cuddling teenagers to come to bed, and they had risen and strolled slowly back to the house, hand-in-hand and each smiling dopily. As they wandered by the adults, they both nodded, and then continued inside. At the bottom of stairs to Ron's room, they paused, and held each other for a long moment, gazing into each others' eyes, and then kissed gently. "Good night, Hermione," Ron said with a tenderness in his voice she wouldn't have imagine possible. She leaned her head against his chest then, and murmured, "Good night."

Finally, they parted, and Hermione walked down the hallway to her own room. Ron stood still and watched until she turned in the door and waved to him; he waved back, and, when she went in and closed the door, he turned and walked up the stairs to a sleep filled with assorted, happy dreams.

vvv

Minerva McGonagall was a bundle of conflicting emotions. She had seen Harry and his friends through so much over the years, and so had perhaps held onto more hope and faith than any other, save, perhaps, Dumbledore. Nevertheless, the relief from the news of his return washed over her like a soothing flood. And then she felt annoyed that Albus had set her the task of notifying people, at least those actively searching now that Harry had been found. And finally, she was curious about what had actually happened.

Turning to her task, she started first with a few notifications by floo. The conversations were each short, but there were several. After, she used the inventive Patronus charm variant the Order used for secure messages, letting a few remote people know the news as well.

For most, though, she decided to use owl post. They were asleep and waking them would serve no purpose. Although the news would certainly be welcome, there was no sense in waking people to tell them they could now sleep easily.

After scribbling a short note that gave nothing away -- indeed, she reflected, she knew nothing to give away -- she duplicated it many times over and hurried up to the Owlery. It was quite late when the multitude of owls had been sent on their way and she had made her way back to the staff quarters and her warm bed.

vvv

Narcissa Malfoy was in a foul mood. Her fool of a husband had only recently been gotten out of Azkaban prison, and was off on some sort of secret mission. And now, again, he was i _late /i _. He had missed dinner, and then after-dinner cocktails. Although this was not unusual, his lack of even the slightest consideration was highly vexing. If she wasn't certain that he would "teach her" how to behave, she would have words with him about this.

As it was, she simply resigned herself to his absence -- rather, his i _ungrateful /i _ absence -- and proceeded to enjoy the cocktails intended for both of them, entirely for herself. The house elves would clean up, and even help her to her room. Luckily, she wasn't forced often to tolerate his presence in bed, and so expected she would sleep soundly in her own room without interruption.

Upstairs, in his own room, Draco likewise wasn't worried about his father's whereabouts. In fact, he really could care less, so long as the man did nothing further to embarrass him or bring shame on the Malfoy name. It was one thing to be a supporter of the Dark Lord, but quite another to be bested by children and publicly humiliated. He hated Potter and his annoying little friends for that, to be sure, but also his father. Draco took another swig off the purloined Firewhiskey bottle, and then carefully slipped it into the book bag that rested by his desk. He turned to his bed, staggering a little, and fell on top of it, too tired and drunk to crawl under the covers before he fell asleep.

vvv

Albus Dumbledore leaned back into his seat, not breaking eye contact with the young man in front of him. Of course, there was only one answer he could give if he didn't want to destroy their relationship. As he took a moment to ponder the question, he realized that, fortunately, he could give the required answer and be honest at the same time. He smiled, nodded his head, and spoke, "Yes, Harry, I do."

"But I don't require, as proof of that trust, that you abandon Snape. Instead, I ask only that you be judicious in your sharing of information about me, learned _from me_, with him and others. As to his need for information, my dislike and distrust of him should be sufficient explanation to both him and Voldemort."

Although he didn't like it, Dumbledore knew this was an argument he wouldn't win. He did want to know what happened, so he agreed, "Very well, Harry, I will promise to share as few details as possible, giving only enough information to allow all of us to move forward."

Harry smiled a little, and replied graciously, "Thank you, sir. I know I can trust you. Actually, I kind of want to let people think I had help, leave them in the dark. You see, I've found that my wandless magic is progressing better than either of us might have expected."

At this comment, Albus smiled widely. This was good news, and Harry's concern for maintaining a strategic advantage showed planning he hadn't expected.

Harry continued, "Would you prefer that I tell you what happened, or that I show you -- in your Pensieve?"

"That is an excellent idea, Harry, if you wouldn't mind?"

With Harry's agreement, Dumbledore brought his Pensieve to the table, settling it carefully in front of Harry. Harry's face assumed a look of careful thought, and, to Dumbledore's surprise, Harry touched his finger to his temple, drawing forth a long silver tendril as most people would do using a wand. It was only then that Dumbledore realized that he hadn't returned Harry's wand to him, and that Harry was sitting in front of him seemingly without need of his glasses and doing complex magic wandlessly.

Albus shook himself, and, when Harry asked if he was ready, nodded. He followed Harry into the memory, arriving with Harry in the small bedroom. He took note of the broken down and threadbare furnishings of the room, and felt a pang of sorrow and guilt for having left Harry to this life and the consequences he was about to witness. They followed memory Harry into the bathroom and from thence into the shower.

Albus Dumbledore knew he wasn't going to like what he was going to see. He had no inkling of the horror and agony and heroism he was about to witness, nor the strength it would take to keep control of the nausea the coming memories would induce.

vvv

After Harry and Dumbledore emerged from the pensieve, the venerated Headmaster thanked Harry for sharing the memory with him. Both were pale and worn from the ordeal, and neither spoke of it at all. Instead, Dumbledore showed Harry up some steps at the back of the office and through a door Harry had once seen the man exit from. Behind the door was a small sitting room, and a further door beyond. They strode through that other door, Harry following, and into a short hallway. To the left, Dumbledore opened a door and ushered Harry in.

At the foot of the bed was Harry's trunk, and on the nightstand beside the bed his glasses and wand. The window to one side of the room was open, a perch in front of it whereupon Hedwig now stood, consuming the remains of some rodent. Harry didn't look too closely.

Through another doorway opposite was a private bath.

"Sleep here tonight, Harry, and we shall discuss what we saw in the morning." With this, Harry and the Headmaster nodded to each other, and Dumbledore closed the door as he left.

Harry walked across the room to pet Hedwig, who had thankfully finished her late super. She leaned into his soft stroking of her feathers, as he whispered softly to her, "Thank Merlin you're OK, girl. I thought I might have lost you."

She hooted quietly, and leaned further to his touch He even leaned down and hugged his cheek to her in a gesture that mimicked her "hugs" of him occasionally from his shoulder. A lone tear leaked out of his eye and across his face.

Harry stood and turned to the bed. The soft wisps of air from the gentle breeze outside were calming, and having his Hedwig back with him as he was safely at Hogwarts lent a feeling of calm and comfort that surprised him. He stripped his clothes off, laying them carelessly across a chair in one corner of the room, and crawled into bed. He was asleep in only moments after his head hit the pillow.

vvv

Albus Dumbledore did not find that sleep came easily. All around Great Britain, wizards and witches found sleep difficult, as news of Harry's return hadn't spread and wouldn't really become known until the next morning. The few that Minerva had alerted would certainly have a decent, relieved slumber as word of Harry's safe and healthy return would ease their worries considerably.

Albus, though, had seen what had happened and was left with questions about how Harry had managed some of what he had done. The questions buzzed around in his mind, and he was thankful for them, because whenever he stopped considering them he found himself reliving scenes of torture and terror that troubled his stomach and tore at his soul. His feelings of culpability were profound, despite the implicit forgiveness he had received from Harry earlier that night. Albus, though, knew he would never forget nor forgive himself for what his young friend had endured.

vvv

At half four, Amelia Bones was awakened as requested. She dressed quickly, nibbling on her light breakfast, and then headed for her office. She was just in time to tell her "troops" to be careful. Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror office, had made his way into the office, as well, to oversee the early morning departure of the contingent of Aurors to Malfoy Manor.

Kingsley Shacklebolt smiled at his two bosses. He knew they didn't get along too well -- Rufus was more rule oriented, a bit too "pure-bloodish" and political for his tastes, but not a bad man when it all came down to it. Madame Bones was strict and very much concerned about justice, willing to look the other way on occasion in its interests, but dedicated to the rule of law and not personal favoritism; she had risen to her office through dedication, integrity and perseverance and despite an obvious distaste for politics. He mock saluted the two, and followed the rest of the strike team as they left.

Scrimgeour and Bones moved to her (larger) office and settled down with tea and talk of re-arranging the Auror teams in anticipation of the Dementors turning to Voldemort -- an event which each expected sooner or later, but that Fudge hadn't allowed anyone to act upon.

vvv

The houself that answered the knocking on the door at Malfoy Manor was not surprised and, oddly, not unhappy to see the assembled Aurors standing in front of her. Houselves aren't stupid (though many would call them a little strange), and since the house had been searched before and she knew that Master Lucius ought not to have been around lately as he should still have been in prison.

Dobby had gotten free of the Malfoys, and she sometimes even envied him.

Young Master Draco was the easiest to deal with, as he would rather not see or talk to you. So long as things were done in the background, and he was fed and cared for, he ignored the houselves entirely. Master Lucius was the opposite, obnoxious and cruel when sober, nearly deadly when not. Always demanding, never satisfied.

Mistress Narcissa was somewhere between, but vexing for her unpredictability. Constant drink meant that sometimes she wanted not to see you at all and other times demanded constant attention. Usually, whichever you tried was wrong and so you had to be punished, though not as viciously as with Master Lucius.

So, when motioned to be quiet, Boffy did exactly as told. The several wands pointed at her weren't needed but did supply added incentive.

Kingsley asked whether her Master was present, and she truthfully said that he was not. When asked if she had seen him lately, she truthfully answered that she couldn't betray her Master's secret, which obviously meant that she had, as a simple "No" would then have sufficed. When asked whether she could show them to wherever his correspondence was, Boffy ventured so far as to indicate that she couldn't possibly tell them that if there was any she wouldn't tell them it would be in the Study that she couldn't tell them was through the door to the right in the Entry Hall.

Kingsley motioned two men through to the Study and asked Boffy to take him to her Mistress. Boffy, a good houself, did as she was bid.

vvv

After a fitful night with little sleep, Albus Dumbledore rose early, intent on discussing the prior day's happenings with his most trusted advisor. He knew that Minerva McGonagall was also an early riser, but at scarcely past six in the morning didn't feel comfortable firecalling her. Instead, he scribbled a short note and asked Fawkes to deliver it to her when appropriate.

A few minutes later, he had dressed and was hoping his friend would get back to him shortly.

vvv

At the Burrow, Molly Weasley got out of bed and wandered downstairs to start breakfast. She knew that Arthur would be down shortly, and wanted him to have a good meal before heading to the office. She knew he wouldn't pay much attention to lunch, and all too often of late he had returned many hours past dinner time. Although she always saved him a plate, she worried that he didn't eat through the day.

Mr. Weasley soon followed, having showered and dressed quickly after his wife left the bedroom. Just as he settled down to have a cup of tea while Molly finished cooking breakfast, a large brown owl swooped through the window and alit on the table in front of him. It thrust its leg toward him, so he untied the proffered letter and handed the bird a piece of the toast Molly had just placed on the table.

He opened the letter and read it quickly as his wife watched, her hands unconsciously twisted together in front of her. They didn't need anymore bad news -- that was certain.

Arthur took a deep breathe and sighed deeply. His face relaxed and his posture eased. He looked into his wife's eyes and spoke softly, "They've found him. Harry returned last night, and Minerva says that he's fine. She doesn't have many details, but we should hear more soon."

Molly had felt conflicted about the boy lately, but found herself relieved beyond measure that he was alright. She might have been frustrated, she told herself, but she certainly wanted nothing bad to happen to him. His safe return lifted a burden of worry from her and her husband and family. And of course, Ginny and Ron and the rest would be spared the loss of a friend and near-family member.

She moved to Arthur and enveloped him in a back-breaking, Molly-patented hug, and he hugged back for all he was worth.

Breakfast was bigger and happier and more relaxed than they would have thought possible only shortly before, and Arthur left for work later and happier than for many days before.

vvv

Narcissa Malfoy didn't appreciate being awakened so early in the morning, especially after a few too many cocktails. She was set to tell the stupid elf off when she realized that she had uninvited company, which had pushed past the houself, and into her bedroom!

She was less happy when she was informed that she should dress, as they were at that very moment executing a search of the house.

She was forced to dress in the company of a female Auror (she would never refer to such trash as a "Lady"), and forbidden her wand. Her request for a potion to deal with her hangover was denied (in her own home!), as was a demand for tea (how very uncivilized these low-level Ministry types were!).

Her day got worse when, upon exiting her room, she heard Draco shout an obscenity and then saw the flash of a curse. Two deeper voices -- Aurors, presumably -- responded -- one calling "stupefy" and the other "Expelliarmus!" She knew the "thud" she heard was her foolish son falling to the floor.

Her head ached worse and her mouth felt drier than ever.

vvv

Minerva walked into her friend's office. She had hurried to see Albus' as soon as she got his note.

He had had a table set, and was sitting, waiting for her. She looked around, but didn't see Potter. Albus understood, and explained, "He's still in bed, in my guest room. After his day yesterday, I thought it best if I let him sleep a little, at least, while I speak with you."

McGonagall nodded, and sat opposite Dumbledore, waiting for him to continue.

Albus leaned back, motioning for his Deputy to help herself to whatever food she wanted from the table. She instead took the teacup, already filled, and sipped from it, looking at him expectantly.

"Harry has asked that little of his story be shared with anyone, including most members of the Order," Albus began. "He has trusted me to tell that portion of the events with those whom I think most need to know, but is cautious about sharing too much information with too many people."

Minerva was surprised by this, because she hadn't thought of Harry acting so cautiously in the past. However, she nodded and waited for Albus to share what he could.

Albus summarized the kidnapping and the torture Harry underwent; McGonagall was shocked and dismayed at the description Albus shared, and could tell from the fact that he nearly broke down in the telling of it that the visions he had seen in the pensieve were much worse than words could convey. He told of the wandless magic and apparition, which shocked the woman and at the same time made her quite proud. He stressed Harry's reluctance to share knowledge of those abilities and she found herself agreeing with Harry, including his thoughts about making the Dark Lord more uncertain of the truth by intimating he had help in his escape.

At last, Albus smiled when he told his old friend that she wouldn't recognize her young lion for the changes he had seemingly imposed upon himself during the process of his apparition.

She looked at him quizzically then, and he explained, "He was injured -- looked banged up quite a bit, really -- before he apparated to Headquarters. But he seemed taller, and healed after. You shall see, my dear, you shall see!"

vvv

Severus Snape seethed. He had been told of Potter's disappearance, and asked to inquire about its circumstances. He had spent almost the entire night trying to learn what he could, returning finally to his home at half three in the morning, having consumed more firewhiskey than any sane man would in his quest to lure information out of the idiots he was forced to endure in his obligation to Dumbledore and the Order. And he had learned nothing -- nothing at all!

Now, at an inhuman hour, a tawny owl had tapped loudly enough at his window to awaken him and, upon reading the note informing him of the triumphal return of the boy wonder, found himself tired, angry and almost entirely uninformed by the near useless note McGonagall had sent.

The boy had put him through the wringer again, and for nothing! Yes, he would make Potter pay for this.

vvv

Harry woke to the sounds of quiet talking, and recognized the voices of Dumbledore and McGonagall. He rose and quietly crossed the room to the bath. He quickly showered and finished his morning ablutions, and dressed. Little more than ten minutes later, he walked down the stairs and into the room where the other two were talking.

Minerva McGonagall was the first to see him, and rose, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Dumbledore, mid-sentence, turned and then stood as well.

"Good morning," Harry greeted two of his favorite Professors. He closed the distance between them and was prepared to shake the hand of his Head of House when, instead, she gave him a short hug.

He smiled down (when had that happened) at her and to both their surprise gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Hello, Professor! It's great to see you." Turning to the Headmaster, he continued, "Thanks for the room. The bed was really comfortable." He looked at the food on the table, and Dumbledore chuckled.

"Why don't you join us, Harry?"

A hungry teenager and food are not long parted, and so Harry nodded, and settled quickly into a seat. The food on the table had hardly been touched, but as Harry helped himself to some of it, piling it on his plate, the two teachers found themselves finding their appetites as well, and following suit.

Over food, they spoke in general terms of Harry's experiences, and Harry learned how much Dumbledore had share with McGonagall. Harry even thanked his Headmaster for sharing so much with his Head of House; both somehow found themselves pleased immensely by his confidence in them.

As conversation and food ran down, Harry broached the topic he had been thinking about for a while now, asking, "I suppose we need to decide what we do now, and where I go?"

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Evidence of Lucius' presence, whilst he was supposed to have been incarcerated at Azkaban, was abundant in the Malfoy home. The presence of a secreted room hidden bellow the parlor and the contraband hidden therein was discovered when Alastair "Mad-Eye" Moody found a hidden spot in the floor. Curse breakers had been helpful in ensuring it was safe to enter, though Moody's _Reducto_ curse had been useful in transfiguring a floor into an entrance.

Narcissa Malfoy was arrested for harboring a fugitive and multiple counts of being in possession of illegal objects: her presence in the heretofore hidden room had been proven magically.

Draco Malfoy was arrested for illegal use of magic by a minor, resisting arrest and assault on an Auror. As he was clearly drunk at the time (a factor which would likely play both for and against him), he was not immediately treated as an adult and thrown into a holding cell next to his mother. His cell had cushions on the hard stone slab that served as a bench.

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Remus Lupin woke to the tapping of an owl on his window.

The day before had been terrible. Harry was missing, kidnapped and likely dead. He had relived so many horrible memories through the day, and had been unable to do anything. Werewolves were most certainly not involved in Harry's abduction, it wasn't near the full moon, and he couldn't mix with other "normal" wizards in looking for Harry, given his lycanthropy.

His few, feeble efforts had quickly been shown to be for naught.

So, instead of doing anything useful, he had waited, alone, at home, hoping for the best, fearing the worst and reliving memories of times good and bad.

He was the last true, faithful Marauder. And in the space of but a few weeks, he had lost Sirius, his friend, almost brother, and now (he thought) the son of his other friend.

The tapping grew insistent, and so he stumbled out of bed, trying to control the wolf-within's call to shred the thrice damned bird, and instead opened the window to grant it entrance.

The bird was unremarkable in nearly all respects, but for the fact that the letter it bore unmistakably bore the Hogwart's seal. Hands shaking, dreading what was contained in the envelope, he removed the letter from the owl's out-held leg. Freed of its burden, the owl flew off, and Remus slid his finger under the seal and opened the letter.

Oddly, Remus' reaction to the letter informing him of Harry's safe return differed not much from what it might have looked like to a dispassionate observer's expectations had it held far worse news. He sank to his knees, tears flowing freely down his cheeks, in relief rather than despair.

vvv

Harry had suggested staying at Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore had wanted to steer him there, to be sure, but had not expected Harry to suggest it. He had been surprised, though, when Harry had insisted upon the Weasleys' not moving there as well. Though the proffered reason of not wanting to disturb their enjoyment of their home, or of interfering with either Ron or Ginny's relationships with "friends" had not rung entirely true, Albus had decided that this was not a matter currently to be pressed.

Dumbledore and McGonagall had initially worried about Harry's safety, but his proposal to take along not one, but two, houselves had surprised and mollified them. Moreover, Harry had reminded them that, if they wanted some sort of guard, they could certainly put people inside the residence rather than hiding outside under invisibility cloaks, and that they might actually be more comfortable.

Albus Dumbledore had the distinct feeling he had been maneuvered into a decision, but couldn't find a problem with the plan. He was at once both delighted by the development of Harry's skills and thought processes and a bit worried that he had found himself where he wanted to be so easily.

Dobby thought that the idea of working for "the most wonderfulest and greatest Harry Potter" was brilliant and had accepted immediately. Winky, upon being offered a "position," was not nearly so happy -- she wanted to "belong" to a family.

Harry stood, looking at a bouncing Dobby and a dispirited Winky, and, not really understanding why, spoke. "Winky, I don't want you as a slave, and I don't want to own you. But I need you, and . . . ," looking at Dobby, "you, too, Dobby. As friends and members of my family. Please, I want you to have a place to be happy, where we can take care of each other. Won't you please be part of my family?"

The two elves looked up to him, and smiles filled their faces with looks of joy and contentment, as Harry's offer paralleled closely the offer that had first bound houselves to their masters centuries ago, before the corruption of human greed. Houselves valued over all else the bonds of family and fidelity, and it had been offered now, freely, and accepted. A great flash of light engulfed the room, and it was done: Dobby and Winky each had been offered and accepted a place in the House of Potter, bound through love and magic forevermore to service to the wizard who offered them that which they craved over all else, to belong to and be within a family.

vvv

Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour were beyond pleased with the results of the raid on Malfoy Manor. Neither paid particular attention to the two arrestees, allowing mother and son to enter the normal flow of criminal justice. All Malfoy assets were immediately frozen, the Manor placed under a Ministry seal until all was resolved and accounts at Gringott's frozen.

Each went their separate ways to deal with the rest of their job commitments.

vvv

Percy Weasley woke early, as usual. He had been accustomed to arriving early at the Ministry to prepare everything for the Minister's appointments. He was already out of bed, wondering at the pounding headache, when he remembered the preceding day. And his lack of position.

A flood of despair engulfed him. He didn't know where to go, or what to do. Mostly out of force of habit, he continued with his normal routine, showering and shaving, dressing and fixing himself an early breakfast. Only when it came time to pull on his robes and leave, did he stop. Instead, he took his tea to the window of his flat that looked out a side alley to a small peak of Diagon Alley, surveying the empty streets below, and left himself to ponder what he should do. His mind wandered as he thought of what might have been, decisions he might have made.

Over the next hour, he consumed a truly copious amount of tea.

vvv

Harry's last idea was crazy, absurd, and mad.

Dumbledore was impressed.

Harry wanted to see the Weasley brother's joke shop. He wanted to go to Gringott's and get himself some clothes. He wanted to buy some books and get an owl order form.

He was determined to go to Diagon Alley.

And he had a point. No one expected him to be there -- this was as safe as he likely would ever be so long as Voldemort lived. His appearance would be a boon to business and morale -- he didn't like his fame, but a stroll down the Alley would make headlines and give hope as nothing else could. And his determination to have some sort of life unshadowed by the specter of the Dark Lord was understandable and laudable. So Dumbledore agreed.

McGonagall did not. However, she was overruled. Dumbledore agreed to ease Harry's entrance into the Weasley's shop, and also agreed to allow Harry a free few hours on the Alley. Harry agreed that Dumbledore could move Order members in as he could, so that overall security would increase as Harry carried on with his business.

And so it was done, and Dumbledore firecalled the Weasley twins barely after eight O'clock, waking them from their firewhiskey-induced slumber. They didn't grumble too much when he asked if he might floo over with a friend at few minutes before nine, telling them that he wanted to see their shop, though after they were more fully awake they found it odd to be worried about pranks and jokes when Harry was still missing. Nevertheless, the impending visit spurred them into motion, and they dressed quickly and made ready both to greet their visitors and open the shop.

Albus Dumbledore's arrival at their floo was unprecedented, but expected. As George was opening the shop's doors to the waiting three people standing in the Alley, Fred was somberly shaking the Headmaster's hand and poised to ask about any word about Harry.

Before he could say a word, though, the fire flamed green again, and a young, dark haired wizard emerged. One whose hair was a tumble, and who had sparkling, emerald green eyes. Even without the glasses, and though taller than Fred recalled, there was no doubt that this was _Harry_! Fred stumbled forward, and for the first time he could remember, was at a loss for words. So he did the only thing a brother could do to a brother he thought he had lost -- he grabbed Harry in a bear hug and twirled him around.

Harry had not expected this. He liked Fred and George, a lot, but really hadn't thought that one of them would be nearly so happy to see him. He swatted at Fred, as best he could, and laughed. Soon enough, he was deposited back upon his feet, and Fred was pumping his hand for all he was worth.

"Good to see you, too, Fred," Harry said, wondering to himself how he was so sure which twin he was talking to, but dismissing the question quickly enough.

In response, Fred looked Harry up and down, and then said, "It's great to see you, too! And you're looking good, too. What happened to the glasses?"

Harry mumbled an answer that it was a long story, which Fred nodded to. Then Harry asked, "So, when can I see the shop?"

Fred beamed at him, and tugged at his sleeve as he led him to the door to the flat, and then down the steps. Dumbledore, who had not in many years been nearly so ignored, followed along silently,

At the bottom of the stairs, Fred opened another door and led them across a hallway and through a grey curtain. After walking through the curtain, Harry found himself in a shop filled with colors and sounds and odors which assaulted the senses and offended his sensibility, and thought, "Perfect! This is the twins exactly!"

There were only a few shoppers this early, and so it was easy for Harry, with Dumbledore behind him, to follow Fred to the front counter. The customers hadn't time to really register who Harry was, but Dumbledore was as recognizable as if he had been a dragon strolling through the shop. Naturally, everyone turned to watch him as he walked through the shop, following the other two.

George had his back turned to his twin at the moment, lifting a display case of some of the newest Wheezes to a shelf behind the counter, and so didn't immediately register their presence. When Fred got to the counter, he called to his brother, "Oi, George, look who we've got here!"

George rested the case on the shelf and then turned. His eyes fixed first on Dumbledore and he started to greet him, and then he looked at the young man standing between his brother and the Professor. Harry.

George jumped off the step he'd been standing on and cried, "Harry!" He ran around the counter and repeated the scene with his twin earlier, hugging Harry for all he was worth.

The by now half-dozen customers had all stopped and were openly staring. Weasleys and Dumbledore and a messy, black-haired youth named Harry. With green eyes. One of them whispered to another, "Can it be?"

A young boy, perhaps seven, standing closest, looked at the young man that George had only just released, and saw a hint of the scar on Harry's forehead. Though he had herd his parents taking only last night about the death of the hero of the wizarding world, he hadn't believed it, and here in front of him was proof. He moved forward, slipping out of the grasp his mother had held on his shoulder, and stood to one side. When George had finished with Harry, Harry looked down at this young man, who somehow felt emboldened to ask the question that had started to linger on the minds of all the people in the store. "Are you really Harry Potter?"

Harry laughed, and then stooped down to look the young man in the eye. "Yes, I am," he said, and grinned. "And who are you?"

The store was deathly quiet -- it was as if the world had been turned on its ear. The boy answered, "Evan, sir."

And Harry answered, "I'm Harry, and these are my friends," pointing to each in turn, "Fred, George and Albus."

Dumbledore was a little surprised, but hid it well, and then smiled. After everything Harry had been through, he thought he might be lucky to be considered a teacher or advisor, that Harry might yet listen to him and seek his guidance. He found himself warmed and relieved beyond belief that he might be considered a friend.

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The customers, of course, had rushed forward to shake Harry's hand, and Dumbledore's, and not a single one left while Harry looked over the shelves, picking out an item here or there and adding it to a small pile on the counter. Even Dumbledore found a few items he liked, and added them to a smaller pile.

Everyone there laughed delightedly when the Headmaster consumed a Canary Cream, and for a few brief moments was a tall, tin, and very yellow canary. As people entered, not a few had tears in their eyes when they saw Harry and Dumbledore, when they understood that their "Chosen One" had not fallen.

Not a single patron left the shop while they were there, though the laughter drew many more in.

When Harry and Dumbledore left, customers started gathering their selections together and stood in a quietly mumbling line, waiting to pay for their purchases.

Harry and his Headmaster walked down the Alley, stopping here and there to shake a hand, and business all but stopped as they passed. Word spread quickly -- Harry Potter was alive and there, in person!

Harry stopped in at Gringott's to get some money, and then at the bookshop to find some reading materials. He was on the Alley for less than an Hour, but word had started spreading everywhere.

He and Albus were stopped at the intersection of a small land with the main street, finally accosted by the press. As time had passed, they had acquired a larger entourage, and so a group of as many as thirty surrounded Harry and Albus when finally the reporters and photographers caught up with them. They stood for a few short minutes, answering questions and having a few photos snapped. Then, they moved forward to the Leaky Cauldron, its private floo, and a swirl of flames that led Harry back to a place he had to go and wanted more than anything else never again to return to.


	6. Getting on with Life

A/N: I'm sorry it took so very long to update. I appreciate the kind words in your reviews and thank you for sticking with me and my story!!

_Harry stopped in at Gringott's to get some money, and then at the bookshop to find some reading materials. He was on the Alley for less than an Hour, but word had started spreading everywhere._

_He and Albus were stopped at the intersection of a small lane with the main street, finally accosted by the press. As time had passed, they had acquired a larger entourage, and so a group of as many as thirty surrounded Harry and Albus when finally the reporters and photographers caught up with them. They stood for a few short minutes, answering questions and having a few photos snapped. Then, they moved forward to the Leaky Cauldron, its private floo, and a swirl of flames that led Harry back to a place he had to go and wanted more than anything else never again to return to._

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Percy Weasley was annoyed. Actually, he was hung over, depressed, and annoyed. Some sort of untoward hubbub was taking place almost under his window, people shouting and making a most unseemly ruckus, interfering with his quiet contemplation of the now cold cup of tea in his hands. He looked out his window, open a little to admit some cool, fresh air that he had hoped would counteract at least a little of the aftereffects of his night of self-pity. What he saw roiled his stomach. Dumbledore, standing heads above a large mob surrounding him, seemed to be holding some sort of press conference under his window. _"Wonderful!"_ he thought, _"Just a perfect start to another miserable day!"_

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The first real news of Harry's safe return to the wizarding world was heralded by the WWW. Not long after the short interview Harry and Dumbledore had given to the impromptu gathering of reporters on Diagon Alley, all of the channels of the network had interrupted their musical and other programming with a short and simple announcement that led to flurries of drink buying in pubs (even at such an early hour), and celebrations and laughing in homes and businesses all around Britain.

_We interrupt our regularly scheduled program for an important update from our reporter on the scene in Diagon Alley. Minutes ago, Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, also known as the Boy-Who-Lived and The Chosen One, spoke with reporters and well wishers on Diagon Alley, disproving earlier reports from the Ministry of Magic concerning Mr. Potter's supposed death. Mr. Potter confirmed his kidnapping, but also indicated that with the help of unnamed persons he was able to secure his escape shortly thereafter._

_We repeat: Harry Potter has returned!_

_We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming._

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Molly had been bustling about the kitchen at the Burrow, missing her family and worried about Harry. Although she had admitted her mixed feelings about the boy, she certainly did not wish him dead. As she worked on some dough for fresh bread, her memories drifted over times past: Harry from the train station seeking help onto the platform, arriving that first summer at the Burrow looking so thin and nodding at the twins' and Ron's outlandish telling of his "imprisonment" with the Dursleys, at Grimauld Place the last Christmas after saving Arthur's life, and, finally, turning up with Ginny after rescuing her from the memory of Voldemort and a Basilisk.

Giving the bread up as a lost cause, she sat, near tears, cradling her cup of luke-warm tea and grieving over her assumed loss of a young man despite her thoughts. And then, news on the wireless, and relief and tears of stress, relief and even happiness, and she was back to her baking with a vengeance.

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Harry was not especially happy to be back at Grimauld Place, but he knew he hadn't really any choice. He and Dumbledore moved from the floo to the large and worn table that sat in the middle of the kitchen. After sitting, Harry closed his eyes and then moved his hand over the table; a simple tea pot and two mugs appeared, and Albus Dumbledore blinked, twice. Unfazed, Harry asked if he would like some tea.

Not knowing what to say or whether even to comment on the complex conjuration, the Headmaster nodded, and said, "Yes, please."

Harry asked whether the older wizard would like sugar or cream, and conjured a simple creamer, which he passed to his erstwhile mentor. Dumbledore took the mug Harry offered him and poured a little cream in, stirring it with the spoon that had simply appeared in Harry's hand before Harry had offered it to him.

After a sip, and a long pause, he looked the young man in the eye, and remarked about the magic he had seen, "That is truly advanced magic, Harry. Wordless magic is beyond many wizards, and wandless beyond most. For you to use it to conjure items -- a subject first addressed in your classes _next_ year -- is impressive. Well done!"

Harry didn't want to be dissuaded from the rest of the conversation he intended to have, but nevertheless he couldn't help but be pleased. Compliments were so rare that they made him uncomfortable and at the same time touched him deeply. The Dursleys had never complimented him, and anything he might have done to earn kind words from someone else was strongly and painfully discouraged. Being friends with Hermione was wonderful in many ways, but she attracted most of the attention when it came to anything close to academic or magical performance in their group and, moreover, was so competitive that he almost felt he betrayed her if he somehow outperformed her. His cheeks reddened, and he ducked his head, and so didn't see the slight frown cross Dumbledore's face.

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Ginny Weasley awoke to a gentle rapping on her door, and the soft voice of Dean Thomas' mother calling her to wake up. She answered back, and climbed out of bed. She gathered her clothes and moved out of her room, down the hallway and into the bathroom, where she could clean up and ready herself for the day. Today, their short seaside holiday was ending and she was to go back to the Burrow. Soon, she thought, she might even see Harry, although that would mean that they would likely have to go to Grimauld Place, and she wouldn't see much of her new boyfriend over the rest of the summer.

With these decidedly confused thoughts, she walked down the stairs and to a pleasant breakfast with the very nice muggle family of her boyfriend.

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Ron Weasley woke in a different way. The best way in the world. The delicious aroma of eggs and other items being cooked, the gentle clatter of pots and pans and the clinking of silverware and glass lulled Ron out of slumber and into a calm and warm feeling of pre-breakfast bliss.

It was already warm out, and he had thrown the bedclothes mostly off overnight, where they now entangled his legs. He extricated himself from the sheets, rubbing his eyes as he turned and perched for a moment on the side of his bed. Then he rose and crossed over to the balcony that looked down onto the large room that held the kitchen and lounge, forgetting he was wearing only his boxers.

Mrs. Granger was working in the kitchen, cutting up pieces of fruit. She seemed to be wearing some sort of knee length, flowery summer dress or cover-up that appeared to be cool and somehow suited to the warm weather. Bill Granger had just put plates and silver on the table on the veranda, and was walking back into the house, wearing just his swimsuit and t-shirt, when he glanced up and saw Ron looking down at him. Bill smiled, and called out, "Good morning, Ron!"

Jane Granger looked up then, smiling, and also greeted him, "Good morning. Sleep well?"

Ron couldn't help but smile, and answered, "Yes, thanks. The bed was great."

"Good to hear," Jane answered. "Why don't you freshen up, as breakfast should be ready shortly?"

Ron nodded in agreement, and turned. Crossing his room to get his toilet kit and something to change into, he realized suddenly what he was, and wasn't, wearing. He blushed for a moment, and then mentally shrugged. It wasn't that different from swim attire. So, with the toilet gear and his swim trunks and a t-shirt in hand, he clumped down the stairs and into the bath.

After showering and attending to his other morning ablutions, Ron exited the bath still carrying his shirt, and almost collided with Hermione. She looked up at him, then down to his bare chest and blushed. For some reason he couldn't discern, Ron smiled at that. He reached his hand up and rested it on her shoulder; when she looked up, he smiled more fully and all but whispered to her, "Good morning. Sleep well?"

She smiled up at him then, and nodded. He answered, "OK, come on out to breakfast soon, then?"

Hermione smiled fully then – Ron and food could hardly be kept apart and this was familiar territory. "OK, Ron, I'll be right along."

He nodded at her, and lowered his hand. An impulse struck him and he acted on it, leaning over and kissing her cheek tenderly. "See you soon, then," he said, as they moved past each other.

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Dolores Umbridge enjoyed a quiet breakfast at her impeccably decorated flat, enjoying the political turmoil she read about in the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. She thought carefully about the coming day and made a mental list of the first steps she would take in her administration. She didn't turn on the wireless, and so was completely unaware of Harry Potter's triumphal return to the wizarding world. Instead, she planned her lists of those she would sack, those she would reward, and those she would look to for "contributions." Yes, all she saw in front of her was sunshine and roses.

Dolores Umbridge enjoyed the beginning of the last few hours of her political life sitting alone, gloating, in her flat.

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The entourage following him at Diagon Alley had, unfortunately, become too much for Harry, and so he had not finished his shopping expedition whilst there. Dumbledore's compliment had sidetracked him, but after a few moments he felt compelled to point out to the Headmaster that he had not yet finished his shopping. He told Dumbledore that he would need to complete his shopping – he needed above all else his own clothes that actually fit – and that he would not long be dissuaded.

Dumbledore did what Harry was afraid he might. He gave Harry vague assurances about getting him out to get his things "when the time was right."

Harry held his tongue, though. Having just seen the commotion on Diagon Alley, and knowing the turmoil caused by his recent disappearance, he didn't feel like pressing things. Yet. He could get along for a while. A very short while.

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The commotion coming from the Alley had prevented Percy from looking carefully at the Daily Prophet. However, as things calmed down, he read about Fudge's departure and the foregone conclusion about Umbridge's looming appointment as the next Minister for Magic. He smiled. They had always gotten along well, and, in fact, had commiserated a time or two over Fudge's vacillation over doing what needed to be done. He might be able to salvage things, after all. Indeed, perhaps Dolores (she really was a delightful woman) would see fit to give him a place in helping to build a better, more focused Ministry.

Percy acted quickly, impetuously even – entirely out of character for him, but still, desperate times do call for desperate measures. He used the fire to place a floo call to her immediately, and caught her before she left for the Ministry. To his immense relief, she seemed happy to hear from him and asked that he floo to her home so they might chat before leaving for the Ministry.

Percy wasted no time in joining her for conversation at her flat about cleaning out the Ministry, getting rid of deadwood, and focusing on protection of magical heritage and controlling muggles and magical beasts. Though he felt a slight niggling sense of concern over where things were heading, Percy sucked it up and focused on where his career might go from there.

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Ron loved breakfast. A combination of eggs and country ham (they called it "jambon" but it was delicious), fresh baked bread with farm-fresh butter and wonderfully fresh fruit was both filing and, somehow, lighter than many of the morning meals he'd had before. And sitting next to his new girlfriend, touching hands here and there, was better than anything he might have ever expected.

Shortly after breakfast, they had packed a hamper with foods for a trip to the beach, as well as a bag that held towels and a large throw for the sand. Everything had been put into the rental car, Ron had been reminded to bring his wallet, and they had driven off from the quaint cottage to the beach.

Ron was amazed. There were so many muggles about, and everyone was having fun. Everywhere there was laughter and play and fun, and he felt a greater affinity then for muggles and their world than he would have thought possible. It is one thing to interact sparingly with them and another to immerse yourself in their world, and for he first time, Ron lost the feeling of being out of place and instead felt like this was a place that he belonged, where magic didn't matter and there was a shared humanity between everyone – they were there with a simple and shared purpose – enjoyment of life and sun and surf.

Of course, even slipping into this new perspective hadn't been entirely simple. When they all first walked onto the beach, Ron had been overwhelmed: by the number of people, the skimpy bathing costumes, and most especially by the fact that many of the women had seemingly forgotten the top half of those costumes. When Hermione removed her long shirt-like cover-up, though, Ron forgot about the other girls and found that he had been rendered completely and entirely speechless.

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Ginny's return from the beach in England, and her first foray into the muggle world, was quite uneventful. After a car trip back to Dean's home, and then being dropped off for a floo trip from a local wizarding pub, she was at home.

When she heard of Harry's kidnapping, she felt for a moment as if the world had stopped. It spun slowly back to speed as she heard that he was safe, and when she retired for a short nap to her room she almost convinced herself that she had been simply concerned for a friend upon hearing the news – that his closeness to her family was all that was left of her feelings for the famous Boy-Who-Lived.

Even she was not entirely convinced that she felt no more, but she pushed those thoughts out of her mind.

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Draco Malfoy awoke slowly, his head aching and his body sore. As he started to move, he felt the cold stone bench below him, and started suddenly, toppling to the floor in a mixture of panic and confusion.

And it came back to him. The firewhiskey, the awakening by the Aurors, and the spells he had thrown. He had felt sick as the memories began flooding back, and in the few moments it took to fully return he had turned to the side and lost what little was left in his stomach.

When he pulled back and looked around him, he realized he was in a cell. A ministry holding cell.

Shit!

Draco moved back to the bench he had been passed out on, seated himself on the edge and leaned forward, head in his shaking hands, with absolutely no idea what he should do next.

Narcissa Malfoy was also in a holding cell, only two doors down from Draco, though neither had any way of knowing it at the time.

She had finished the "processing interview" and understood that the primary charge against her was harboring her husband, an escaped felon. She could not answer for her son's actions or inebriation, and in fact could not recall the last time she had spoken with him. The Aurors who spoke with her made special note of the fact that she did not inquire about his welfare, but did demand access to her Solicitor.

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Dobby and Winky arrived at Grimauld Place and, upon seeing Dumbledore and Harry, apologized loudly for not preceding the two, while twisting their ears viciously.

Harry surprised everyone – himself included – when he shouted, "Stop that!"

The elves looked up at their new master, confused. Harry took a calming breath, and spoke more quietly, "Please, don't hurt yourselves, especially because you think you need 'punishing.' It hurts _me_ when you do that. You've done nothing – _nothing_ – wrong! But even if you had or do in the future, I don't want you to hurt yourselves. _Please_?"

Harry's attention was focused on the elves, who looked up at him with large, bright eyes, and simply nodded. He didn't notice the soft smile that graced his Headmaster's face, or the twinkle in his eyes.

The elves seemed a little shocked when he asked them to sit at the table, but did as asked. Dumbledore rose, and Harry looked at him questioningly.

"I have to get back to Hogwarts, Harry," he said. "I have no doubt that there will be a flood of correspondence concerning your return after all. I should think you will have more than a few visitors soon, and will discuss the idea of shifting at least a portion of your guard to this location."

After bidding each other goodbye, Albus Dumbledore pulled a shiny silver cloth package out of a pocket in his robes and poured some floo powder into his hand. He left the package on the mantle above the fire, tossed the powder in his hand into the fire and left in a flash of green flame. Harry refocused his attention on the two house elves that were by now bouncing in their seats, looking around the room and (if Harry's suspicions were correct) trying to decide where to start in "fixing" the dreary kitchen and house.

Harry seated himself across the table from the elves, and, after conjuring a couple of cups and filling them, handed the tea to the elves, who looked scandalized at being served by the young wizard.

Before they could object, Harry settled down and told them he had a number of questions about how they might make the household work.

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Not long after the elves arrived at Harry's new "home," the special edition of the Daily Prophet was delivered to Diagon Alley and wizarding establishments throughout England, including Hogsmeade and the Ministry of Magic.

Evelyn Bushgard received the special edition in her capacity as a special clerk to the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister.

The lead story about the safe return of the Boy-Who-Lived was amazing enough, and she knew that her boss would not be at all happy. The only other story on the front page, "_Potter Blasts Umbridge,_" would not be welcomed at all. The small summary of stories inside the paper did not bode well for her supervisor, either: "_Call for Criminal Investigation of Umbridge – Page 3; Dementors Set Upon Potter Last Summer – Page 4; Corruption in the Ministry? – Page 5; Cannons Suffer Worst Loss in History of Modern Quidditch – Page 7._"

One of Evelyn's jobs was to summarize all important news stories daily for the Undersecretary, as her first task of the morning, and leave the summary on her desk. She had already done that with the first daily edition of the papers.

There was really no love lost between Dolores Umbridge and the senior clerk assigned to her: Evelyn was a muggleborn and competent witch with no political connections or wealth, and was soft-spoken and kind. She was allergic to cats.

So, after looking over the just-delivered paper in her hands, she did what any self-respecting, overworked, underpaid and abused public employee anywhere around the world would have done. She smiled, binned the paper and poured herself a fresh cup of tea, enjoying the warmth it lent her hands and the glow from the coming firestorm.

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Ron decided that he liked France. Warm weather and water at the beach, a beautiful new girlfriend, and food like he had never had before. Fish next to the beach on the Riviera was nothing like the fish and chips he was accustomed to – there was a variety of types and flavors and sauces that amazed him, and he decided at the first lunch in the first café that he was going to eat his way through as many variations as he could. And that odd thing they had that they called pizza was_delicious_!

Hermione found that she had an entirely different perspective on her day at the beach than she ever had before. The book she brought sat in her bag, unread, and instead she ran through the surf, and built sand castles, and lay back and talked with Ron. As the afternoon drew to a close, she realized that she had not argued with Ron once, and she smiled softly as she lay on the beach, enjoying the warm rays of the sun.

Jane Granger was very happy for her daughter; although no one would call her a romantic at heart, she couldn't help but be moved by the scene of young love in front of her. She had worried long and hard over her lone daughter – Hermione was so intense that she never seemed to fully unwind. This single day was a revelation into changes she had long hoped for, for her daughter.

Surprisingly, Bill Granger found that he was not at all protective of his young daughter. He had always heard he would be when she brought a boy home, and had fully expected to fulfill the role of foreboding father. The curiosity and kindness the lad showed to his daughter, however, and the gentle smile on her lips as she lay there in front of them, led him to a different emotion entirely – gratitude. The whole experience at this odd school of theirs had not, until now, fundamentally changed his daughter: she had always been driven and focused and competitive in the extreme. Now she was also content, happy, joyful and playful even, and in that he saw a happiness he had worried she would never find, and he was profoundly grateful to the young man who had brought the smile currently gracing his daughter's lips to her face.

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Draco did not like the man who was speaking with him. Kingsley Shacklebolt was in absolutely no way at all acceptable in _decent_ wizarding circles. His dress, his demeanor, and his race were all an affront to the standards that his father had long drilled into him.

Draco tried to explain his actions away by saying he thought he was being attacked. And then he made the mistake of threatening the man with a reprisal from his father.

Kingsley was no fool and knew exactly what the Malfoy heir thought about him, having dealt with Death Eater spawn before. He wanted to pity the boy, but couldn't, not with the smirk that twisted his face, or the air of superiority. The threat of reprisal by the father finally elicited a response. "Your father is _dead_! He was killed with several other Death Eaters as an escaped convict! The only thing he can do for you now is welcome you to _hell_ after you die!"

Draco was shocked. He was angry, but more at his father than the man in front of him. His emotions swirled, and he tried to hold on to his sanity, and he started to answer, "The Minister . . ."

And Shacklebolt cut him off, "Resigned in disgrace."

"My mother?"

"Under arrest."

That shut Malfoy up completely. He looked down. He was alone, he thought, completely alone. When he looked up, Shacklebolt had gone and the cell was again dark and dank and foreboding.

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Dolores Umbridge and Percy Weasley flooed to the Ministry a little after 10:30 am, in time to swing by her office and then head off to the Ministerial Committee meeting scheduled for 11:00 that morning. Percy, in keeping with his station, followed Dolores by a step and to one side. Both noted the stares and whispers of the people in the Atrium as the headed off to have their wands examined, assuming it was because of her importance and the pending affirmation of her position as Interim Minister.

They took the lift to her office, and Umbridge grunted at her clerk, Evelyn Bushgard, despite the cheery greeting that Ms. Bushgard had given her. Dolores didn't even stop to introduce Percy Weatherbee as her new co-worker.

Dropping her attaché on the desk, Dolores picked up the summarized news stories on the desktop, browsing them to see if there was anything of interest. Since it didn't include the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, no mention of Potter's triumphal return or of the mounting funeral dirge for her political career was mentioned.

Percy waited while she shuffled a few papers around on her desk, sorted what was in her in basket, and then grabbed a few of the items. She looked up at Percy then, and motioned him back to the door, saying, "Let's get on with it, shall we?" On the way out the door to the meeting, she dumped the papers she had in hand on her clerk's desk, telling Evelyn to "deal" with them. Evelyn's smile at her boss' disappearing back was genuine for the first time in her recent memory.

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Harry, Dobby and Winky had a long and productive conversation. Harry learned how house elves worked, how they got money for household costs, and what they would do around the house (which seemed to be just about everything short of major demolition or construction). The elves gained an appreciation for what their young master was most interested in, and so could prioritize their work.

They agreed to tidy up the kitchen and a bedroom for him first, and then to move to other public areas of the house. The dreadful elves' heads on the hallway walls would be unstuck somehow and moved to the attic. Food would be procured, and, since Winky no longer was interested in Butterbeer given her changed circumstances, even that would be acquired for the larder.

Harry retired to the ground floor parlor with his stack of recently acquired books, and settled down with one on practical arithmancy. He had compared it with the standard Hogwart's text, and found that they covered essentially the same material, but that the book he had purchased used practical applications to explain the theory, which suited him much better than the dry theorem-based school text. He immersed himself in the book, pausing only to sip the tea the elves provided or to work on some of the practical examples contained in the book after Winky had found and supplied him with quill, ink and parchment.

Winky turned her efforts to the kitchen, while Dobby removed the elf heads from the walls upstairs. After the heads were gone, Dobby moved on to preparing Harry's room. Harry had assumed that he would use the room that he and Ron had shared before, but Dobby had a different idea. He turned his efforts to the large room on the first floor at the front of the house – it had its own fireplace and windows that looked out to the rundown square below. In addition to a single, large four-poster, there was a settee and a chair at the fire, and a desk at one window. At the other window there was a small table with room for a light meal for four, and four straight-back chairs. Through one door was a walk-in closet, and through another a large, private bath with a tub and separate shower.

Harry wouldn't realize it to start, but it would turn out to be a good thing that Dobby had chosen this room for him, because he would spend the better part of the summer in it.

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"_Umbridge Ousted!_" screamed the headlines in the second special edition of the _Daily Prophet_ in as many days. The story told of the meeting, elements of the press in attendance, in which the vile woman met her downfall – not only not affirmed as Interim Minister, but arrested for her crimes. Of course, even before the news reached the public, it had worked its way through the Ministry faster than the Auror had escorted the toad-woman to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for "booking" and then transfer to a holding cell.

Percy's attaché and papers were seized as evidence; he was not arrested but was told not to leave town, given his involvement with first Fudge and then Umbridge.

Amelia Bones was promoted to Interim Minister, mostly as a result of her reluctance to play politics and in reaction to the overly political ministrations of the former Minister and his Senior Undersecretary. Rufus Scrimgeour had wisely decided that an overt political play might win him the position but more likely would cost him any future chance at it.

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Severus Snape well and truly did not like children. Most present and former students at Hogwarts would, in fact, pontificate on the fact that "not like" was a monumental understatement, but a select few had actually managed to have a civil conversation or three with him, all from Slytherin.

Draco Malfoy was one of those, mostly due to the fact that Snape had taken some actual interest in his Godson. He privately found it laughable that Lucius had chosen him for that role given his status as a half-blood (though this was never spoken of and Draco didn't know of it), but he knew it was on account of his closeness during the first war to the Dark Lord and on account of his connections at Hogwarts and the impact that might have on the young man's life in school.

Snape had never expected to actually be called upon to take custody of the young man, and so was beyond shocked when the owl arrived indicating that he should come to the Ministry to fetch the boy.

After making his way to the Ministry and filling out more paperwork than even a patient man could endure, Severus Snape was finally shown to a room in which Draco Malfoy, now entirely disheveled from his time in custody, was waiting. Snape merely looked at Draco, and said in a very quiet voice, "Follow me!"

He turned, and left the room. Draco scurried after him and caught him at the lift, where they stood in silence until they reached the Atrium. Snape strode across the large room to the fireplaces and then pulled Draco close. He whispered, "We are going to Spinner's End." Draco nodded, took a handful of floo powder threw it into the fire, and stepping forward called out his destination.

Snape followed him into the fire.

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Percy didn't know what to do, so at first he did nothing. He sheltered himself in his flat, pondering what he might next do. He drank a little too much, and ate too little. Every once in a while, he would pull on a cloak and, despite the warmth of the summer, venture out, hood up, to the slightly less reputable establishments off the ancillary mews and courts of Diagon Alley proper, eating sad food and drinking slightly stale ale in dark corners.

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Ron and Hermione slept in late, played at the beach and wandered about the hills around the villa that Bill and Jane Granger had rented. Every few days, they drove off to somewhere new and different and interesting, seeing old churches, remnants of Roman aqueducts and buildings, and ancient town squares in quaint towns on hilltops. Hermione read books aloud to Ron and he listened and they talked, and somehow they found time to do their homework, and the two teens found life fun and free. Enchanted in their explorations, they grew closer to each other, and for a short while also felt further from the harsh memories of battles and struggles and fear in Britain, and sometimes (as is the way of young love) almost forgot others as they lost themselves in each other.

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Molly had more trouble than she had imagined she would adjusting to the quiet of the Burrow. Over the school year, even after her two youngest had left for school, she had looked forward to summer and the hustle and bustle having children around brought to the old, family home. In one year, though, it had all changed. Fred and George had left school early, started a business and moved into the flat over their new shop – all before school ended. In a complete change to what she had been accustomed to in the many, many years before, Ron had gone off for a large part of the holiday with a friend rather than having her stay with them. And her youngest, her only daughter, had first taken a holiday with her _boyfriend's_ family, and now more often than not spent much of each day at her brothers' new business, working for pocket money she had never had before.

Molly was lonely, despite her time spent at the new headquarters of the Order of Phoenix, and so latched onto Ginny when she was home. They talked about many things, and Molly felt like she was as close as she could be to her daughter.

Ginny, in the way of teenagers in general and as a reaction to her mother's loneliness in particular, listened some and let her mother know all the secrets she didn't mind sharing. She talked of the shop and what she did there and the fun things going on and even the cute boys that came and went. Together they talked about Ginny's trip to the beach and her visits with Dean, and all the fun and odd things she had seen in the muggle world, and Molly was enthralled by Ginny's adventures.

And Ginny started to wonder whether she wasn't enjoying the adventures more than the boy she had them with. This she didn't discuss, though, with Molly Weasley, because suddenly her mum seemed not too pleased with the idea of Harry Potter, and the more time went by, the more she wondered what and how he was doing.

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Harry's summer settled into a routine.

People came and went and Harry at first made a point to speak with them. Dobby or Winky would come up to the wonderful room they had fixed up for him, and he would go downstairs to greet them. Almost without exception, they would talk for a little while and then he would be dismissed as they met, privately, with other members of the Order, or the guests would retire to one of the newly cleaned and redecorated bedrooms for much needed sleep.

On a couple of occasions, he was convinced that people who maybe ought not to have retired together (given what he understood of their marital status) made use of one of his spare rooms for a few hours, but he didn't make a fuss, not because he was comfortable with it but because he didn't know what to do about it.

Harry exercised in his room, and ran up and down the stairs (despite the protests of the occasional visitor), and felt stronger with each passing day.

He exercised his Occlumency, focusing on flying with Hedwig, rising over the gray mist he first found and soaring through the warm, bright blue skies. In the center was a hilltop he'd found, topped with a castle with several turrets, a keep in the middle of the high stone walls that guarded his most important thoughts and memories and hopes and dreams.

Harry studied the books he had bought in his few, short minutes on Diagon Alley, and found a few more in the Black library, and even sent Winky to the bookstore to get more for him.

He asked for help on a few occasions, wanting to do a bit of shopping and ever more wanting to get out of the isolation of the not-so-gloomy House of Black, the rooms having been cleaned and polished, painted and re-wallpapered. Though he asked for help and a bit of freedom and maybe some fun, and longed for a little companionship, none was forthcoming.

Dumbledore didn't come at all; McGonagall came and went a couple of times and seemed sympathetic but wasn't helpful. A lot of others came by; Tonks made Harry laugh a few times, even. Lupin didn't come at all, and Harry felt as if he had let the man down, and was certain the man blamed him for the death of the closest thing that the kind werewolf had had to a brother.

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Draco was not at all impressed with Spinner's End. Snape acted as if he didn't care, but in fact he had expected this. His father's old home was as run-down as Grimauld Place was (or, actually, had been, as he was unaware of the improvements Harry's Elvin friends were making), and he hadn't the funds on his teacher's salary to renovate it. It was comfortable enough in the rooms they used, and had a well-equipped potions' lab, and was nothing at all like Draco Malfoy had ever come to expect.

At first, Draco was irritable and insulting and near impossible to live with, until Snape had offered to let him leave. As Draco's wand was confiscated, not to be returned to him until he returned to school, and he had no money and only a trunk-full of clothes, he quickly decided to stay. He did as Snape directed, having no choice, and studied potions and other subjects; he studied and in his free time wandered the decrepit town area around Snape's home. Snape actually cooked sometimes, bringing food from Hogwarts at others, and Draco actually learned a little about cleaning as that was the task assigned to him most often by his godather.

He learned that Snape was a halfblood and that harping on it to him was most counterproductive. He corresponded with friends a bit, but found that letters from Crabbe and Goyle were useless and even learned that Parkinson could simper in letters as well as she did in person.

Draco had a lot of time to think. He had always sought the approval of his father, though they had never been close, and felt a bit adrift knowing his father was dead and that the cause Draco had always been told he should join had led to his father's downfall. He was not especially surprised but utterly disappointed to hear his mother had worked hard for her own release (though she failed) and hadn't even written to him. He was in shock over the complete change in his circumstances and barely managed to hold his tongue enough for Snape not to do - - he didn't know what to him.

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It was on the morning of the thirty-first of July, just when he had turned sixteen, that Harry's life underwent yet another monumental change. In each of the last few years he had received some sort of birthday acknowledgement from Ron and Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, having stayed up until midnight waiting for his solitary celebration. This year, he welcomed an owl from Hagrid bearing a note wishing him well and a silver dagger in a scabbard that Hagrid's note said would become invisible when worn. At first, Harry thought he wouldn't have a use for such a thing, but upon reflection, decided that it would be a pretty good idea to keep it in case of unforeseen circumstances – which, unfortunately, seemed more the rule than the exception in his life.

Hedwig had returned with nary a trace of correspondence, and Harry had reassured her that he held her blameless. She had finally quieted as a result of his ministrations, and he had felt even closer to his beloved familiar. He had fallen asleep with her roosting on the headboard of his large sleigh bed, and dreamt of her and flying freely, convincing himself that he, too, was an owl swooping around in the air and playing tag and follow the leader with his feathered friend.

In the morning, when he awoke, he dressed carefully in some of the few new clothes that he had rescued from Sirius, determined to look decent for once. He went downstairs for breakfast, rather than taking it at the small table in his large room. On the table in the kitchen, he found a letter from the Ministry and another from Hogwarts.

Opening the letter from the Ministry first, he found is Ordinary Wizarding Level examination results. In Defense, Charms and Transfiguration, he had received an Outstanding. He managed an Exceeds Expectation in Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and Potions. He pulled only an Acceptable in Astronomy, a Poor in Divination and a Terrible in History (which surprised him not at all, given that he had fallen asleep in the exam and then left early on account of a vision of Sirius that Voldemort had fed him).

Seven OWLs, especially with so many O's and E's, was quite an accomplishment, and Harry felt a combination of satisfaction and pride on that score, and disappointment he could not continue in Potions given Snape's requirement for an O to proceed to NEWT levels in that subject.

Turning to the letter from Hogwarts, he pulled three parchments from the envelope. The first was a letter from his Head of House, Professor McGonagall, in which she indicated that his choices of available courses were on the attached parchment that he should complete and return by the fifteenth of August. In a personalized post-script, she said that she was proud of his marks, and said that, although she was holding his broom and he was free to rejoin the Quidditch team, she was sorry she could not appoint him as Captain given his removal from the team in the preceding year.

Although he preferred in many ways not to be Captain, the injustice of it all nevertheless grated Harry greatly, and for a few moments, he struggled to keep himself calm, reminding himself briefly of his Occlumency visions of flying and freedom and peace.

The course choice parchment was a bit of a surprise. He found that the standard for admittance to NEWT level Potions had been reduced to E, and so he immediately checked that box, together with those for Transfiguration, Charms and Defense. He knew five courses were required and no more than seven were allowed, and debated with himself for a few minutes before checking the boxes for Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, as well. He asked Dobby to fetch him a quill and parchment, and wrote a short note to McGonagall, thanking her for her comments and expressing his understanding regarding the Quidditch captaincy. As a post script, he asked whether a NEWT exam could be taken in subjects for which he did not take the classes.

He sealed the course parchment and letter in an envelope and asked Winky to put it on his desk, intending to send it to send it with Hedwig that evening. At this point, Dobby looked a little sad an put-out, until Harry asked if he could visit the bookstores to get another book on more advanced Arithmancy, together with additional texts on practical Runes and enchanting of objects, as well as anything he could find on muggle mathematics. Having debated with himself about it earlier that morning, he asked for a book or two on Animagus transformation, too.

By the time Dobby had left, Winky was back in the kitchen, pouring Harry more tea and admonishing him for not eating the breakfast she had put in front of him. With a little guilt, Harry turned his attention to the food on his plate for a few minutes, before unfolding the third sheet that had been in the envelope. It was from Dumbledore.

In his loopy handwriting, Dumbledore expressed wishes for a happy birthday and remorse at not having been by lately. He asked Harry how he was doing with his various studies and apologized for his continuing absence. He acknowledged Harry's desire to "get out to do a bit of shopping" and promised again to arrange an opportunity "when it could be arranged."

Harry was not happy, and decided to do something about it.

He told Winky he was going out to do some shopping, and that he would be back that afternoon. As he left, he told her that neither she nor Dobby were to let anyone else know where he had gone, and, ignoring her fearful expression, left through the front door and out into muggle London to find himself a bit of freedom and some clothing of his own.

At Harrods, Harry found new clothes that were even reasonably stylish, shrinking the packages while in the men's' room so as to carry them in his pocket. He cabbed up to Piccadilly Circus because he had heard of it before, but never been (as if he had ever really been anywhere). There were a lot of tourists, but also a lot of activity and happy people and a vitality that was entirely different from anything he had seen recently and, he thought, anything he had experienced before in his life. There were so many people his age, everywhere, and he felt anonymous and reveled in the feeling of being a small part of such a huge happening. The experience of just being _free_ was a salve to the growing anxiety and isolation of Grimauld Place.

He wandered into a large music store and was astounded by the selection of CDs he saw. He didn't know one from another, or whether they would work at Grimauld or could be made to work at Hogwarts, but the role of fifty pound notes in his pocket were trying to burn their way out of it and so he moved to a large display and slipped headphones over his ears to listen to what he could. He poked a few of the buttons, and then jerked the headphones off as a loud and obnoxious wail sounded through them.

When he looked up, he saw a very pretty blonde looking at him, laughing a little. He was embarrassed for a moment, until she offered to help, taking him for a tourist. When he thanked her, she smiled and asked about the type of music he liked.

Somehow, the conversation and Harry's admission that he had no idea what he liked, led to an offer to assist him in finding some different CDs. And after buying quite a few, and a player and headphones and batteries, he asked Cathy to a late lunch, and she accepted. Somehow, Harry stumbled into his first successful date.

Later that afternoon, after talking about Cathy's impending move to Toronto with her parents and Harry's "communication problems" because of living with his "evil grandfather" and attending a private but "secure" school in Scotland, the two agreed to meet in a little less than a week's time at the same Tube entrance where they were parting. After a warm hug and a sweet hug, Cathy was on her way and Harry felt less alone and isolated than he had all that summer.

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Life went on for many of the people that Harry knew.

Remus was running around hither and yon on Order business, keeping himself as busy as he could to bury the remembrances of Sirius, enjoying a slowly blossoming romance with Nymphadora "Dora" Tonks. He often felt guilty, too, about Harry, but managed to find distractions as he had before for the twelve years following the disastrous Halloween when James and Lilly had died. Harry missed the easy company and steady presence of the man more than he originally would have thought.

Ron and Hermione visited historic sites and old towns and a few city centers. Ron found foods he'd not had before and loved them, as well a the casual freedom of the slow pace in the south of France, and Hermione found the allure of books and study tempered by the pleasure of walks hand-in-hand with her boyfriend and laughing nights of muggle games with her folks and Ron. Harry missed them greatly, and tried his best to reconcile the idea of the two of them off on a holiday while even elementary freedom and companionship was mostly denied him.

Although Harry didn't know it, and might not have cared, Draco Malfoy was possibly the only person in the British Isles enjoying his holiday less than Harry. He hated the grungy Snape home, resented being left alone there as Snape was off on his own business most of the time, and was bored by the time he finished his homework and found little else to read or do that occupied his time. Snape had wisely locked up the liquor, given the cause of Draco's incarceration, and so Draco mostly was even denied the solitary misery of the bottle he had relied on for a few days early in the holiday. Amazingly, he managed to find a pub not far away where he learned to hold his tongue about the muggles whilst he did small jobs for a pint or, occasionally, a quick shot of Scotch that he developed a taste for. If there was one sadder, more pitiable person in England than Harry, it was Draco.

Harry exercised, but mostly he focused on his magic. He read about Arithmancy further and found a challenge that he enjoyed as he progressed. He tried his hand at Runes and learned that he could consult references for elementary needs, but beyond felt certain that he would have to hire the work done in the future if he couldn't convince Hermione to help. He devoured the small handbook on enchantment Dobby had found, learning the discipline was mostly a difficult charms application requiring a singularity of purpose during casting of the spell, combined with a substantial application of magical power, such that the desired charm would last indefinitely, even beyond the caster's death.

In reviewing the Animagus books Dobby procured, Harry thought himself likely much further advanced than he would have initially expected. The procedure for identifying one's form required careful and considered introspection, focusing on determining a "natural" form. Only after identifying the form was the prospective Animagus to practice elemental wandless and wordless magic, trying to transfigure different parts of the body in preparation for a whole body transformation. By the time Harry read about it, he had already understood his owl form from his Occlumency meditations, and advanced well in other relevant magics.

Harry's second date with Cathy was better even than his first. They enjoyed a fun lunch and a walk through Hyde Park. They wandered through the food court and a few levels of Harrods, where Harry bought Cathy a very pretty scarf and, at her suggestion, a handsome leather coat for himself. In a department filled with crystal and silver, he bought her a delicate, gold-tipped rose and found a gold-horned crystal unicorn for his best mate's sister.

At the end of the date, the kiss they shared was long and languid and spoke, in advance, of a parting they each regretted and were both reconciled to. They agreed to meet, once more, before Cathy was to leave for Canada, where she had no real address yet where Harry might write her.

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Ron and Hermione returned to London with Bill and Jane Granger on the eighth of August. At the airport, they murmured their goodbyes and kissed, promising to get together again soon, and Hermione returned to her home with her parents while Ron went back to the Burrow with his father, already having planned to meet later in the month to purchase their school supplies, hoping to be able to include Harry at the same time.

When Ron returned home, he greeted his mother and sister and, after a huge meal (his return would call for nothing else) settled back into his room, intending to take the twins up on an offer to help out at their shop part time in return for some spending money. He had asked about seeing Harry, and Molly had agreed they could get together for the yearly shopping trip later that month.

On the morning of August eleventh, a bright and sunny Sunday, Ginny woke relatively early, securing the bath for herself before her older and (in her opinion) somewhat lazy brother, Ron. After cleaning up, she wandered down to the kitchen, where her mother was in the midst of preparing a large breakfast. "Hi, mum," she said as she bounded down the last stair, and Molly turned to greet her daughter.

"Good morning, dear! And Happy Birthday!"

Ginny smiled broadly, and answered, "Thanks! Good morning to you, too!"

"Your father has made sure to have the day off for your special day, dear, and Bill will be by with Fleur for a special birthday lunch, so we're waiting until then for presents. OK?"

By this time, Ginny had moved across the kitchen and given her mother a short hug, She stepped back and nodded. In truth, she would rather not have to put up with "Phlegm," but would so that she could see Bill.

She expected – almost dreaded – the twins would be there for lunch as well. A perfect day would have had Charlie at home, too, but he was back in Romania.

After eating, she spent the morning in the garden, reading. She thought about writing a note to Hermione, and then thought better of it, deciding to wait to share any news that might come from the pending celebration.

Shortly after noon, her mother called her back to the house, and when she entered she saw her father and four of her six brothers (if one were to count Percy in that list) all sitting at the table and smiling at her. Fleur was nauseatingly close to Bill and had what Ginny considered to be a fake smile plastered on her face. Everyone rose from their seats when she entered, and moved to huddle around her, even Ron, hugging her and wishing her a Happy Birthday.

After a delicious lunch of roast chicken, the table was cleared and then a magnificent cake was placed on the table. Ginny again received a table full of birthday wishes and, after the cake was cut and distributed, a small parcel of presents was placed before her. She opened them eagerly, enjoying the variety of books and wheezes she got from her family, as well as the pretty silver bracelet Bill had brought back from Egypt. Though she was loath to admit it, she even appreciated the comb and brush set that Fleur had given her – it was typically a "girly" gift, but was pretty and also would be useful. She found the pretty glass lidded box with pressed flowers in it from Dean was also very nice.

As the gifting was winding down, Ginny and family were surprised when a beautiful white owl, a large package clutched in her talons, swooped through the window, fluttered down and deposited the parcel directly in front of Ginny before landing gracefully directly behind the box and facing Ginny.

There was no mistaking the owl – Hedwig was the most singularly striking owl Ginny had ever seen, and her grace was a dramatic contrast to either of the owls owned by the Weasleys, Pig and Errol. Ginny was a bit surprised – she and Harry had never exchanged gifts before, but she couldn't help but smile as she reached for the item Hedwig had carried to her. The rest of her family had a variety of expressions – Ron looked confused, as did Bill; her father just seemed happy, while the twins seemed to have slightly evil smirks, and Molly and Fleur each had a wistful smile on their lips.

Ginny reached forward, and stroked Hedwig on the chest, murmuring a hello, and the owl leaned forward into it for a moment. Ginny dropped her hands to the package and pulled it closer to herself, and, fumbling with the bright paper it was wrapped in, revealed a bright blue box. Whatever the contents, it was quite heavy!

Opening the box, she was at first confused by the gray, springy material that filled it. Only when she first poked and pulled at it, did she realize it came easily out in her hand – at least half of it did.

Nestled between the top half of the foam she held in her hand and the other half still in the bottom of the box was a bright, crystal object. She pulled it out and held it up in the light, marveling at the beautiful detail on the crystal unicorn, its golden horn glistening in the light. She was so entranced by it that she didn't see the reaction of her family to the obviously expensive gift. Looking in the box, she saw a card, and so carefully put the unicorn down on the table, never taking either hand off of it. Reaching for the card with one hand, she left the other next to the unicorn, and was surprised when, a second later, she felt the cool crystal of its head rub along her hand. Forgetting the card for a moment, she looked at the small animal and watched, fascinated, as it moved to stand next to her hand, rubbing its head along one finger.

Although she had certainly seen many bewitched and enchanted objects before, she had never seen one like this before. When she moved her hand away, the unicorn returned to its original pose and stopped moving. When Bill, who was seated next to her, put his hand close, it didn't move at all.

"Ginny, put your hand back, please," her oldest brother asked, a perplexed look on his face. Complying, she did, and the figurine moved again. When she removed her hand, it returned to position. Fleur, now looking mightily impressed, reached her hand across Bill's empty plate and touched the animal. It remained stationary. Bill waved his wand over it, and it glowed a soft yellow.

For the first time in her recent memory, Ginny realized that while the table was filled with Weasleys, it was nevertheless absolutely silent. She looked into Bill's eyes, and asked, "What?"

She wasn't sure what to make of his smile, but his words soon distracted her, "It's enchanted. A personal enchantment, on a muggle piece of art. That's advanced and very powerful magic, Gin."

He looked her directly in her eyes: "The kind of magic the pharaohs had their magicians perform for their tombs, to prepare their most prized possessions for the afterlife."

She was shocked. "But . . ." And almost speechless.

Ron, though, wasn't. He was, however, tactless. "What's it worth, then?"

Ginny glared at him, as did his parents. The twins started to say something, Fleur frowned at him like he was a bug, but Bill answered, "I don't know exactly, but I'd wager its worth more than a year of my salary, at least, for the enchantment alone. Of course, you can't sell the enchantment to anyone else as it is just for Ginny."

He looked at his little sister then, and finished, "Though I reckon that it's a lot more valuable than that to Ginny, knowing Harry went to all this trouble for you."

Ginny nodded dumbly, and finally opened the card that accompanied the gift. Before she had a chance to read it, Ron rose without a word and left, filled with anger and jealousy.

She hadn't dared to expect a love note from Harry, and didn't get one. She did get a kind and caring note wishing her a very Happy Birthday and thanking her profusely for being such a wonderful, faithful and loyal friend even when he was, as he put it, a "pain in the ass."

Ginny left the silent room to bring her gifts upstairs and to write a short note of thanks to Harry, leaving a mostly silent room behind her. Hedwig happily carried her short letter back to Harry when Ginny returned later, carrying a book to settle down and read in the garden while she thought . . . about a lot of things.

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Molly Weasley gathered her thoughts. She had prepared breakfast for her clan (Fred and George had even been by), and seen Ron and Ginny off with the twins to the Wheezes shop on Diagon Alley, where the two younger siblings would work for the day for some spending money, the twins would get their stock room sorted out properly, and she could leave early to prepare for an Order meeting at Grimauld Place.

She was not at all sure she was looking forward to this, if she was entirely honest with herself. She had found herself having mixed feelings about Harry Potter all summer. She had been and still was concerned both that he was a little too tempestuous for her liking, especially given the danger he was in and that he almost seemed to seek out, and that he was, frankly, more than a little dangerous for her children to be around. On the other hand, she knew he was a good boy and that he had a good heart, and that he had been a good and faithful friend to her family, most especially her children. While she could not forget the danger Ron and Ginny had been in because they had followed him to the Ministry mere weeks ago, neither could she dismiss his actions in saving Arthur, not to mention the heroic efforts he had undertaken to rescue her daughter from the Chamber of Secrets.

His recent gift to Ginny confused Molly more than she would like to admit. Did he fancy her? Molly wasn't sure whether to be happy at the idea – six months ago, and she would have been ecstatic. Now, though, she just wasn't sure. She didn't even know what Harry had written, as Ginny had not shared the contents of his note to her with anyone, and, despite the temptation, Molly didn't snoop her way into reading it behind her daughter's back.

It was an entirely ambivalent Molly Weasley who flooed to the old Headquarters to prepare for the large Order meeting that would not have properly fit in the makeshift headquarters they had mostly been using since Sirius' death.

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On the thirteenth of August, Harry dressed in some of his nicer clothes, wanting to look good for his last date (he didn't include their chance, first meeting in Piccadilly) with Cathy. They had agreed to meet today, to part ways forever, because tomorrow was the last day she would have in London before she and her family moved to Toronto. There was no more time, and there would be no more chances to talk or even correspond – she had no real address and he had no way for her to contact him and so had explained that mail at his school or home would be intercepted by school officials or house staff under orders from his cruel grandfather. Harry hated using this ruse, but assuaged his guilt by concluding that it was closer to the truth than anything else he could invent.

Coming down the stairs, Harry was surprised to find Mrs. Weasley coming up from the basement kitchen. They had not talked or seen each other all summer, the only communication limited to the Howler she had sent him early in the holiday and the letter of response he had sent and that she had not answered (though, in truth, no response had really been needed).

"Harry, dear, how good to see you!" she exclaimed, plastering an almost sincere smile on her face.

Harry was really not happy to see his friends' mother, both because of the exchange of correspondence earlier in the summer that had left him feeling much less close to the woman (and pressured to distance himself from her family), and because he did not think he would be able to escape the house without some sort of confrontation.

And he intended to leave, soon, so as not to be late for his "goodbye date."

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Severus Snape had not been back to the mutt's dilapidated house since the incident at the Department of Mysteries. The new site used as headquarters had suited him better – there were no memories of any of the marauders there, no personal lives involved, nothing of the sort. The meeting he had been asked – compelled – to attend was something he would rather avoid, as he thought he would have to deal with Potter in addition to Weasleys and Lupin, and the entire thought annoyed him greatly. In the foul mood this induced, he made ready to floo to the meeting.

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Harry had expected this from almost the second he had seen Mrs. Weasley. Despite the fact that he was not a member of the Order, that he was supplying the house (and almost certainly the refreshments) without being told how much or to whom they were going, much less asked, and despite the fact that there were two house elves in residence, Mrs. Weasley expected to co-opt him into preparing for the coming visit of people he wouldn't be invited to keep company with.

Even if he hadn't had a date, he would have declined.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but I can't really help you out today."

She looked shocked by this pronouncement, because she had expected him to accede to her request. Given her mixed feelings, Molly defaulted to her "mum" attitude and demanded, "And why not?"

Harry's first inclination was to submit to her request and agree, but a split second later he felt like he was staring down Vernon Dursley, yelling and demanding and ready to hit him if he refused, and Harry suddenly was angry. "Because I am busy."

"Doing what?" she questioned.

Harry wondered for a minute how to answer, trying to decide whether to give the real reason, or try to keep his personal business private. As he thought about it, he realized that although it really was none of her business, he couldn't bring himself to care if she was angry, and he did know he wasn't in any mood (nor did he have the time) to accept her bullying. So he told the simple truth: "I have a date."

If Mrs. Weasley was expecting anything, this was not it. "And how do you expect to do that?"

Harry's attitude at this point was not distinguishable from millions of other teenagers dealing with stupid and condescending questions – sarcastic. "I think I will meet my date, what else?"

Molly was well practiced in dealing with that type of attitude, and, taken in combination with her conflicted feelings about Harry, she said the only thing she could think of: "You will not! I forbid you from doing any such thing. Of all the reckless, foolish and . . . "

Harry answered, shouted, "What I do is none of your business!" He moved toward the front door.

Molly saw how he was moving, and tried to place herself between Harry and the door, pulling her wand out of her pocket. "If you think I am letting you leave, you are sorely mistaken, young man!" She held her wand half way up, not pointing at him but seemingly ready to do something, though she knew not what.

Harry tried to calm himself, but the sight of the wand and the memories of the kidnapping, the Dursleys' betrayal, the torture – they all flooded back. And his temper rose. He didn't pull his wand, but the house shook a little, reflecting a leakage of magic under the extreme frustration he was experiencing. He looked at her, his eyes hard, crystalline, the green shining as if lit from behind, and she took a step back. He thought back to his time in that dungeon.

"So, are you going to lock me up, chain me to a wall? Maybe stun me, when my back is turned? Curse me?"

She didn't say anything, but her hand trembled and she lowered the wand to her side.

But Harry wasn't done, the betrayal he felt from her earlier words to her recent actions taking hold of his heart, and he pressed his advantage. "The Cruciatus is effective – it would stop me from leaving – it stopped me when Malfoy used it."

Molly didn't know what to say or think, but the idea that he would think she would use it, that he would compare her to Death Eaters, cut her to the core, and she gasped, dropping her wand and raising her hand to her mouth.

Harry didn't lower his eyes – he looked directly at her, and said, "Don't have it in you, after all?" He turned, and left, and Molly sat, slowly, on the floor, where she had been standing.

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Harry seethed and fumed his way down the street and into the tube. Slowly, he allowed himself to become lost in his Occlumency, and, finally settling into a seat on the train, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Slowly, he calmed and finally felt himself centered again, calm and able to enjoy his last visit with Cathy.

The date was all that Harry had expected. It was fun, and they laughed and held hands, wandered the streets of London and had a fun lunch. And at its end they hugged and she cried a little and he almost did. Harry felt another happy chapter in his life closing off and a small sliver of his hope and happiness leaving with her.

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The topic of the meeting that had been called at Grimauld Place seemed forgotten when Molly told everyone that Harry had gone, and the manner in which he had left. Most of the people at the meeting were upset, bothered that Harry could say anything so cruel and thoughtless to Molly, who, of course, from her telling of the tale had been perfectly reasonable in her words to and treatment of him.

Severus Snape was not surprised. He sneered and he smirked, waiting until Molly wound down before voicing his entirely too predictable opinion: "Well, what would you expect from the brat? Everyone turning on his every word, and him eating it all up – the praise and the adulation and especially the attention. Someone should have shown him before now that this behaviour will not be tolerated!"

Albus rubbed the center of his forehead, right above his eyes, with two fingers of his right hand. He felt a headache coming on, and was peeved not only by Harry's actions, but also by Severus' sniping. "Severus, we are all dreadfully well aware of your views about Harry Potter." He looked up, and around the large table at the members of the assembled Order, and the room stilled. "There is nothing we can do about Harry at the moment. He will surely be back soon enough, and we will discuss this with him. For now, let's get on with the purpose of our meeting, if that is all right with everyone?"

There was a murmur of approval, though Snape looked as if he had been made to swallow a very large lemon whole, and the meeting turned to the intended topic – a revision of schedules and responsibilities for the coming school year, when the teacher members of the Order would need be closer to Hogwarts most of the time.

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Harry made his way slowly back home, exiting the Tube a few stops early so as to walk the last many blocks. Hands in pockets, head bowed, he made his way along, thoughts turned to Cathy and her last, lingering good-bye kiss, and the feeling of normalcy and involvement in the world around him that his relationship with her had given him. More than most, he mourned the passing of his summer romance and the coming of the autumn and the sense of closing and oncoming darkness it seemed to harbor for him. He brooded on the fact that, for the first time, he regretted in some ways the pending return to Hogwarts.

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After the meeting broke up, and most moved on to their own business, the Weasleys and Dumbledore included, Snape remained, determined to confront Potter – not for what Harry had done but simply because it provided the excuse he needed to do so and it would feel good after the ruckus the boy had raised by his confrontation with Molly Weasley. He managed at once to both ignore and poorly treat the house elves during his short waiting time. He was not aware that Moody, too, had remained, intent on witnessing the confrontation and, if need be, seeing that no harm would come to Potter.

When the front door opened, Snape hurried (in as menacing a way as possible) toward the entrance hall, paying no attention to Moody, who followed behind, and removed the disillusionment spell that had heretofore kept the wizened Auror hidden from the potions professor.

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When Harry came through the door, he wasn't surprised to find Snape there, seemingly waiting for him. Moody's presence was just an added bonus.

"Potter! What are you playing at, going out unprotected when so many people are wasting their time looking after you?" the Greasy Git asked.

Before Harry could answer, Snape continued with a diatribe insulting to Harry, his father, his Hogwart's House, and anything else remotely associated with Harry. After listening for longer than he would have liked, without a comment and not caring to defend himself from the man's vitriol, Harry turned to head up the stairs to his room. Moody hadn't said a word and didn't move, but Snape moved quickly, stepping across the room and grasping Harry's shoulder and pulling hard, turning him forcefully around.

Harry felt the hand on his shoulder, the tug turning him against his will. He also felt the anger and hate in the man's voice, the unfairness of his actions past and present, and the injustice of his virtual imprisonment (despite a few short escapes). He felt the constant, unending and unremitting animosity that Snape had shown since his first Potions class, and the unfairness of Snape's treatment.

As Snape spun him around, Harry didn't fight it. Instead, he balled his hand into a fist as he spun, and moved so that he hit the man on the jaw, as hard as he could.

A second before impact, Snape saw what was coming but had no time to react. Harry's fist impacted, and Snape's head snapped back, his feet actually lifting from the ground, and he fell back, striking the wall with a "thud" and rested, unconscious on the floor.

Moody didn't move. He observed the confrontation and, to his surprise, the nimbus of light that surrounded Potter's hand as he struck down the Potions' Master. Despite protestations of "constant vigilance," he hadn't expected this and didn't move at first. He did not regret Snape's comeuppance, but found himself at a loss a second later when Potter finished his turn and stood in front of him, only a few feet away, his wand raised and pointed at his face, a strange red glow at its tip.

He was quite clearly caught flat-footed and at Harry's mercy, and he did not remember the last time he had found himself so vulnerable.

"You want to have a go at me, too?" Harry asked.

Moody did not have to think about his answer – he had wanted to see what Snape would do and not start a war with Harry. And given the current state of things, he was relishing his neutrality. "No."

"What do you want?"

"Just curious."

Harry looked at him, and Moody felt some power in the eyes staring him down. He didn't flinch. "No lecture, no threats?"

"No, Potter."

Harry looked at him for a long minute, the nodded his head. "OK, then. I'll trust you not to attack me after I turn my back."

Something about the whole confrontation made Alastor Moody quite certain he did not want to disappoint Harry and somehow he knew he would not betray the boy no matter what the cause. "Never."

Harry nodded, and smiled, and an agreement, unspoken, was reached. Harry turned to the stairs, saying, "Good night." A couple of steps up, he half turned, and, looking at the crumpled form of Snape, asked the retired Auror, "Will you take out the trash?"

The description of the unconscious man seemed apt to Moody, and only further enhanced his opinion of the young man. "Of course."

"Thank you," said Harry as he turned and headed up the stairs to his room.

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	7. Truth or Consequences

Truth and Consequences

_We last left our story when Snape confronted Harry about his leaving Grimmauld Place. _

_Harry felt the hand on his shoulder, the tug turning him against his will. He also felt the _

_anger and hate in the man's voice, the unfairness of his actions past and present, and the _

_injustice of his virtual imprisonment (despite a few short escapes). He felt the constant, _

_unending and unremitting animosity that Snape had shown since his first Potions class, _

_and the unfairness of Snape's treatment._

_As Snape spun him around, Harry didn't fight it. Instead, he balled his hand into a fist as _

_he spun, and moved so that he hit the man on the jaw, as hard as he could._

_A second before impact, Snape saw what was coming but had no time to react. Harry's _

_fist impacted, and Snape's head snapped back, his feet actually lifting from the ground, _

_and he fell back, striking the wall with a "thud" and rested, unconscious on the floor._

_Moody didn't move. He observed the confrontation and, to his surprise, the nimbus of _

_light that surrounded Potter's hand as he struck down the Potions' Master. Despite _

_protestations of "constant vigilance," he hadn't expected this and didn't move at first. He _

_did not regret Snape's comeuppance, but found himself at a loss a second later when _

_Potter finished his turn and stood in front of him, only a few feet away, his wand raised _

_and pointed at his face, a strange red glow at its tip._

_He was quite clearly caught flat-footed and at Harry's mercy, and he did not remember _

_the last time he had found himself so vulnerable._

_"You want to have a go at me, too?" Harry asked._

_Moody did not have to think about his answer – he had wanted to see what Snape would _

_do and not start a war with Harry. And given the current state of things, he was relishing _

_his neutrality. "No."_

_"What do you want?"_

_"Just curious."_

_Harry looked at him, and Moody felt some power in the eyes staring him down. He _

_didn't flinch. "No lecture, no threats?"_

_"No, Potter."_

_Harry looked at him for a long minute, the nodded his head. "OK, then. I'll trust you not _

_to attack me after I turn my back."_

_Something about the whole confrontation made Alastair Moody quite certain he did not _

_want to disappoint Harry and somehow he knew he would not betray the boy no matter _

_what the cause. "Never."_

_Harry nodded, and smiled, and an agreement, unspoken, was reached. Harry turned to _

_the stairs, saying, "Good night." A couple of steps up, he half turned, and, looking at the _

_crumpled form of Snape, asked the retired Auror, "Will you take out the trash?"_

_The description of the unconscious man seemed apt to Moody, and only further enhanced _

_his opinion of the young man. "Of course."_

_"Thank you," said Harry as he turned and headed up the stairs to his room._

Let the story resume

When the fire in his office flamed green, Albus Dumbledore looked up in surprise. When the unconscious form of Severus Snape tumbled, unannounced, out of the fire, to crumple on the floor, he was shocked and rose to his feet quickly.

Alistair "Mad-Eye" Moody followed Snape out of the fire, somehow maintaining his balance despite his wooden peg-leg and the sprawled potions master in front of the fire. By the time Moody had brushed a few stray drifts of soot off his cloak, Dumbledore was kneeling beside Snape, and asked, "What happened?"

Moody had never had much tolerance for the Death-Eater-turned-spy, and had lost what little he had minutes before at Grimmauld Place. "He attacked Potter. He lost."

Moody looked on as Albus moved to the fire and summoned Poppy Pompfrey to tend to the unconscious man lying on the floor. Dumbledore moved back and Poppy came through the floo, bustling over her patient. She didn't say a word to Moody, and Moody returned the favor. Instead, as she fussed and Dumbledore fretted, Moody moved to the cabinet next to Dumbledore's pensieve. Opening it, he pulled out a heavy crystal glass and a matching decanter, pouring himself a good stiff drink of Dumbledore's finest firewhiskey. He turned, decanter still in hand, raising it to Dumbledore by way of question.

The headmaster shook his head, negatively. Moody turned back, and, ignoring the rejection, poured a second glass anyway. He set the decanter down and, holding both glasses, moved to stand next to his old friend.

Dumbledore asked again, "What happened?"

Moody gave a brief overview of Snape's words and actions. When he explained that Snape had grabbed and shoved Harry, Pompfrey looked shocked and Dumbledore very sad. Poppy finished the most important parts of her healing, explaining to Dumbledore that he had a concussion and a broken jaw that she had healed. She didn't do anything to ease the pain of the spreading bruise on his jaw as she woke him.

Snape woke and immediately felt the pain of his jaw and his head. He groaned loudly and, seeing Poppy hovering above him, shook his head to clear his mind. Immediately regretting it, he groaned again.

A few moments later, he realized where he was and struggled to his feet, shooing the mediwitch's ministrations off. He glared at Moody, and turned to Dumbledore, not noticing the man's disappointed look in his daze. Instead, he did what seemed to come naturally when it came to Potter – he launched immediately into another diatribe. "He struck me! He attacked me, the arrogant bastard! I demand that you punish him, teach him a lesson, make him behave!"

Snape took a breath, but before he could continue was stopped by Albus' single-word response, not said loudly but with an underlying strength that rivaled steel: "Enough!"

After Snape stopped, and blanched at the now clearer sight of his friend and mentor in front of him, Dumbledore quietly asked, "Alistair says you attacked Harry?"

Snape blustered, "I only tried to stop him, to make him listen!"

"You grabbed him and shoved him around," Moody growled.

Snape knew this was not going the way he wanted, and had a sick feeling that Potter would get off again, but pressed on, "Only when he turned his back."

The slap that Poppy landed on his already bruised face echoed through the room. "How dare you?!" she shouted. "A student, and you attack him! How dare you?" She looked like she would explode any minute judging by the bright red color of her face.

Snape realized that this was really not good. Poppy was normally one of the calmest and most caring people he knew, and he never would have expected her to become violent. He had an inkling that he had, finally, gone too far, which she confirmed when she closed her medical kit, not offering anything for the pain he knew she knew he was in.

Poppy rose, nodded to the headmaster, and left through the doorway, her anger made obvious to all through her loud steps and the slamming of the door behind her. She had uttered not another word as she left.

Alastair held the second glass out again to Dumbledore, and he took it. He took a sip and walked around his desk, sitting tiredly behind it. Moody took one of the seats in front of the desk. Neither said a word to Snape, who stood for a moment, uncertain of what to do before he, too, claimed a seat across the desk from the Headmaster.

Snape started, on three separate occasions, to say something, going so far as to open his mouth, before he thought better of it and shut his mouth again. Moody and Dumbledore sat quietly, sipping their drinks. Snape was very much aware that neither offered him a drink, nor sympathy.

Finally, Albus spoke, "I do not know what to do with you, Severus." When Snape started to speak, Dumbledore glared at him, and Snape again thought better of it. Dumbledore continued, "You had no cause, no justification, to be there. I can see no reason for your presence but to create a confrontation. Your aggression was improper, unwarranted, and inexcusable. Whatever issues I may have with Harry's response, your actions today do you no credit."

Dumbledore looked at Snape; Snape felt the full weight of the elderly man's disappointment in him, and felt a twinge of the conscience he tried so hard to bury. Albus nearly whispered his next words, "Go. Just go. I do not know what to say to you now, and I do not think I can bear whatever you are thinking about saying to me. We will speak on this matter in the future, when calmer heads may prevail."

Harry was surprised when Dobby shook his shoulder until he awoke. He rolled over onto his back and looked blearily up into the elf's eyes. He mumbled, "What do you want, Dobby?"

The creature perched atop him looked down, but answered, "Mister Lupins be telling me he is needing to talk to you. He is in the sitting room downstairs and is saying Dobby is needing to get Master Harry Potter as fast as he's can."

Dobby looked almost ready to punish himself, so Harry answered quickly, "That's OK, Dobby; I'll be down in a few minutes. Can you give him some tea while he waits, please?"

Dobby nodded his head affirmatively so hard that his hears made an odd flapping sound as they hit the side of his head. He beamed at Harry, and said, "Yes, Master Harry. Dobby is telling Mister Lupins you is being down soon."

Harry looked at the elf fondly, smiled, and thanked him; Dobby's smile threatened to wrap so far around his face that Harry thought that the top of his head might fall off.

A few minutes later, Harry found himself walking down the stairs to the lounge on the ground floor. He was apprehensive about this conversation – he and Lupin hadn't spoken all summer, not since Sirius had fallen through the veil.

When he entered the room, Remus looked up from the cup of tea he had been sipping, and gestured to the chair next to him, where Harry promptly sat. The werewolf spoke softly, as usual, when he addressed Harry, "I'm sorry I haven't made time to visit before this summer, Harry. I've been running about a fair bit for the Order, but that's really no excuse."

"That's alright, Professor. I understand you and everyone else are quite busy," Harry said, though truthfully he would have enjoyed at least a little company and certainly could have used the friendly face of his father's and godfather's old friend.

"I fear we've all left you to your own devices this summer, and even with my company I know how isolated Sirius felt, before . . . ," Remus' voice drifted off at the end, and his eyes seemed to loose a little focus.

Harry knew how Lupin felt – he too had trouble thinking or speaking about Sirius, still missed him greatly. "I've mostly been reading, studying to keep myself busy."

"I hear you've snuck out, too?"

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the question, but didn't much like the phrasing of it, and so answered shortly, "No, I didn't 'sneak' out. I left a couple of times to do some things I needed to do."

Lupin looked him in the eye then, and seemed a little angry, "But you didn't wait for an escort, didn't worry about what could have happened to you? You just went where and when you wanted."

"I asked for help – but no one was willing to give it. Hardly anyone would even really talk to me. So I did what I had to do."

Remus sighed, and leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands together, and said, "Dumbledore wasn't happy that you left here unprotected, Harry, and I must say that neither am I. He asked that I speak with you. He wasn't very happy with how you treated Molly or Snape, either."

Harry looked at the man in front of him for a moment before he answered. "So you're here as his message boy? I thought you might have actually wanted to see me, talk to me? I'm an idiot!"

Lupin looked ashamed, but Harry continued to speak before the man could interrupt, "Maybe Dumbledore should talk to me himself if he has something to say. And maybe he should worry about how Mrs. Weasley treated me, how Snape treated me, before he tries to have you lecture me about it."

"Harry, he is worried about that, too."

Harry took a deep breath, and realized he didn't want to talk to Lupin anymore. "I think you should leave," he said. "I haven't anything further to talk to you about, and I don't want to trouble you with wasting your time on a stupid teenager."

Remus was shocked that Harry would ask him to leave, and that Harry seemingly felt that Lupin didn't care about him. "Harry, it's not like that, really! I don't consider you a waste of time!"

Harry calmed a bit, but had to finally speak the thoughts that had lingered for so long on his mind – what he'd wondered about often before, "Really? Where were you all summer then? When you were my professor, why did you wait so long to tell me anything about my parents? After, when you were with Sirius, why didn't you feel like trying to talk to me?"

Lupin felt truly ashamed, but Harry hadn't finished – he had one more question, "Why did you leave me all alone with the Dursleys for so many years, with no idea who I was or who my parents were?"

Harry had risen from his chair, and as he turned to leave the room, he asked the last of the true Marauders a final question, "What would my Dad have done for your son if the tables had been turned?"

Remus Lupin sat quietly in the room, staring at the empty fire grate, for quite some time before he eventually left. He knew he had cared about Harry, truly cared, but he had allowed his own fears and feelings of inadequacy, and even Dumbledore's pleas, to overrule his desire to see his friend's only son, and he was finally seeing the results of years of accumulated mistakes and poor judgment come home to roost.

Harry's anger had faded by the time he got back to his room, but not entirely evaporated. He threw himself on his bed, and replayed the short conversation in his head several times. He found himself regretting his words, but also realizing the strength of the emotions behind them, feelings he had buried for weeks now. He felt again the sorrow and abandonment of Sirius' death (and he knew it wasn't Sirius' fault he was gone but he was left so alone by it that he wanted to cry). He felt the sadness and guilt and abandonment caused by Mrs. Weasley's letter that ended his dream of really being part of that family, and the betrayal and abandonment of the Dursleys. He relived the short joy he'd felt when he saw Dumbledore's relief and happiness upon Harry's return, and then his growing loneliness and frustration as the summer progressed.

He thought fondly of Cathy and the few, short happy memories he'd had that summer, where he could be himself and laugh and have fun and talk to someone his own age, and not worry about everything else going on in his life. And he remembered how Mrs. Weasley didn't care, and seemingly neither did Remus or Dumbledore, about his happiness.

He wondered whether Dumbledore really did care about him or not – or whether he only wanted Harry around for what Harry had to do in eventually facing Voldemort.

He skipped lunch – he couldn't eat, no matter what Dobby asked. Later that evening, he did finally eat some of the soup and fresh, hot bread Winky brought up, but if you had asked him when he finished it what he had eaten, he wouldn't have been able to say.

Hermione Granger, who happened to visit the Burrow in the afternoon after Harry's last date with Cathy, at first couldn't believe Mrs. Weasley's story about Harry's treatment of her. Ron was much more willing to believe it, given Harry's anger of the past year and his rekindled jealousy from Harry's birthday gift to Ginny. When the twins told them that Harry had hit Snape, Ron smiled for a minute, but Hermione was furious, and her anger helped Ron to remember that he was mad at Harry, too.

When they heard that Harry had all but thrown Remus Lupin out of Grimmauld Place, their anger with and disappointment in their friend grew.

Months later, Hermione would agree with anyone who cared to ask that the letter she sent to Harry had been ill considered.

Harry's response was a simple, terse note, "_Thanks so much for standing up for me! It's good to know who one's real friends are. Bugger off!"_

Ginny saw and heard it all, and argued that they weren't seeing the whole picture. Ron and Hermione didn't really listen to her views (which she thought of as typical for Ron and disappointing for Hermione), and alluded to her long-dead but not forgotten crush on the Boy Who Lived. Both managed (just barely) to escape her Bat Bogey Hex.

Instead, Ginny penned a short note to Harry, telling him that, although she didn't know the whole story, she was certain that it wasn't all his fault, that she couldn't believe that he would do things in the way people were saying or without provocation. She also asked if they might speak on the train ride to Hogwarts.

Ginny's letter was probably the best thing that happened for Harry in the days following his blow up with Lupin; he wrote her a letter back, thanking her for her faith in him and assuring her that he would relate the whole story when they had the chance. He told her he was looking forward to seeing her on the train.

Harry's Occlumency practice had been progressing well. After the day of Lupin's visit, he threw himself further into his meditation exercises. He already loved to fly around in owl form in this quasi-dream state, but wondered how he might protect his thoughts in this form – a serious challenge to the castle that held those thoughts might be mounted by an intruder and he wouldn't be able to do much of anything as an owl, no matter how much he might want to.

As he flew as an owl in his thought-world, he thought of Snape trying to break into his mind again. His anger, and his need to defend himself against Snape and Voldemort, and his anger even at Voldemort for the violations he had suffered in the last year, crystallized in his thoughts into another form. In is own dreamscape, as he flew over the grey mist below and looked down on his castle of thoughts, he morphed into a fiercer, nearly invincible creature, driven by a need to protect his castle, his keep, his treasure.

And in all of these thoughts, he moved beyond the subtle art of basic Occlumency, and formed his own mental reality, laying the foundations and setting the ground rules for any future confrontations, without realizing he had done so. Instead, he reveled in the new and different feeling of flying, his leather-like wings beating furiously as he rose and then dove over and over again, the wind whistling over his shiny, opalescent black scales, the acrid odor of flame and smoke as he breathed deeply, and the subtle adjustments in airborne flight possible from even small twitches in his snake-like tail.

Intruders in Harry's mind would be most uncomfortable.

When Lupin reported on Harry's reaction to Dumbledore, he could have sworn that the Headmaster aged several years right before him.

"Remus," he said, "I am sorry I asked you to carry that message to Harry. I had thought that a friendly face and sympathetic ear might have been welcomed by Harry, but instead I seem to have misjudged how my message might be received."

"I admit we really haven't done right by Mr. Potter. We left him there, alone and to his own devices. I know he asked to do some shopping, but it always seemed as if it could wait, as if there were more important things to worry about," the old man continued. "But now that I consider it, it is entirely natural that a young man would like to not only have a few things of his own, to feel good about himself, but he would like company and companionship, as well as fresh air and a change of scenery."

"The mistake I made with Sirius I repeated with Harry. I regret that this old dog didn't learn any new tricks, and asked you to try to clean up my mess."

Remus didn't know whether Albus had intended the literal (and slightly disgusting) image caused by his allusion, but didn't comment on it. Instead, he answered, "I could have handled it better. I still don't agree with what he did – not entirely – but, by the same token, he shouldn't have to put up with the abuse. I spoke with Molly, and she did say she pulled her wand on the boy – can you imagine how that felt to him, after everything that's happened this summer and last year? And with how the Dursleys treated him?"

"I know that Snape torments him, too, and he shouldn't be attacking a student. Harry may have overreacted, but I can't really fault him too much, given Severus' constant goading of him."

Albus agreed, "Yes, I think that most men, when pushed beyond reason, will react strongly, often violently. Harry has been sorely pushed, sorely tested these past many months, and I haven't remembered to see that he gets the help that he needs. It will not help that so many in the Order think he has gone too far, and do not consider what we have asked from and expected of Harry, without considering what we should be offering to him."

"I've been more guilty of that than most," Lupin admitted. "I haven't been there when he needed me, and he finally called me on it. I've always had an excuse, a justification, but the truth is that I've too often been a coward, and now I'm seeing the consequences of my own actions."

The discussion continued for some time thereafter, but the end result was that Dumbledore vowed to himself to try to do a better job of thinking about and helping Harry, and Lupin did likewise. Both hoped that they might be given one more chance at redemption in the young man's eyes.

Lord Voldemort's recovery had taken longer than he would ordinarily have tolerated, but he had felt the reactions of his own body when the Healer had tried to speed the progress. He had even relented from torturing the man for his failure. Mostly.

His inauspicious return to England was mostly unheralded. Wormtail had reported on the number of his Death Eaters killed (and Voldemort seethed but didn't punish the little rat), and Snape had reported that Potter was well and healthy – _the day after the incident_! When Snape couldn't tell Voldemort where the young man was, Voldemort had punished Snape, although not to the extent that would make the man ineffectual in his work.

Voldemort considered trying to enter Potter's mind, but put that off until he could decide what he would do with the access once gained; he only knew that if he could do it again, he might not have long or often more to do it, and so held it back in reserve. Instead, he set his remaining Death Eaters off to recruit more, like-minded people. He most particularly tried to leverage off those remaining to regain some of the influence within the Ministry that was lost with Malfoy's death.

And so, things were quiet for a while.

Draco Malfoy found that the muggle girl, Margaret, was really quite pretty. Obviously, she was much below him, almost beyond contempt, but she was quite pretty. She served sometimes on weekday afternoons at the pub where he picked up small jobs and sometimes got a pint.

Snape wasn't around much, and he really didn't like consorting with muggles, but given the festering boredom of sitting all alone at Spinner's End, he decided finally that a little fun with the girl would be an adequate diversion. One afternoon, after moving several crates and cleaning the back room, he settled down to a pint in a back corner of the pub. It was a slow day, and so Margaret settled in a seat next to him carrying her own pint. They chatted, and he learned that she was a couple of years older than him, though he lied and told her the same fiction he had fed the pub's owner – that he was nineteen. The owner didn't believe it and looked the other way; Margaret did likewise.

The conversation wasn't about much of anything, and Draco didn't really follow half of it as the muggle terms and activities didn't make much sense.

Afterwards, Draco found himself surprised that he had actually been enjoying the company of this pretty and funny muggle girl.

On the fifteenth of August, the second day after his last date with Cathy, Harry was surprised by a visit from Dumbledore.

Dobby knocked on his door a little past nine in the morning, rousing Harry from a book he had been reading, to tell him that Albus Dumbledore was downstairs and wondered if Harry might have a few minutes for him.

In all honesty, Harry wasn't sure what he wanted to do, and took a few moments before answering. Dumbledore had been honestly overjoyed when Harry had escaped from his kidnappers and turned up in the Headmaster's own office. He had said all the right words to show he was concerned about Harry and had seemed to promise that Harry would at least have something other than the horrid summer that had evolved after their return from Diagon Alley to Grimmauld Place.

And the Headmaster had utterly failed in following through. He'd had little company, other than from Dobby and Winky; the only thing that seemingly had garnered the old man's attention had been the revelation that Harry had resolved to do for himself what no one else seemed interested in doing. Harry was also perturbed about (as well as at) Remus Lupin's visit that had been prompted by Dumbledore.

On the other hand, Harry desperately wanted to come to some sort of terms with his headmaster. He knew he could use – in fact, he needed – the Headmaster's help if ever he were to have a chance of defeating Voldemort. So, in the end, Harry made the responsible and mature decision to see Dumbledore, following Dobby down the stairs and into the ground floor sitting room.

Winky bustled about for a couple of minutes, setting out a tea service and some biscuits, as well as a bowl of the fiery cinnamon candies Harry had come to favor. Harry greeted his visitor, "Professor, this is a surprise. How are you?"

Smiling, Harry held the bowl of hot candy out to Dumbledore as he sat, offering a treat in a gesture reminiscent of the Professor's own habit. Dumbledore, not wanting to seem impolite, took the candy and popped it into his mouth. Judging from the look on his face and his reddening countenance, Harry supposed the spice might have been somewhat unexpected, but resisted the impulse to laugh.

Working his way around the treat, Dumbledore took up his cup of tea, and answered Harry, "I am fine Harry, thank you very much. However, I also find myself again in the embarrassing position of having to apologize to you."

"Oh? What for?" Harry answered, genuinely curious about Dumbledore's thought process.

"First and foremost, I have neglected you. No matter how busy I have been, or how many things I have asked other members of the Order to do, I should not have left you here, so long, without ensuring that you had some companionship. I have failed to see to it that you obtained the most basic and important requirements of a happy and healthy life, and for that, Harry, I am truly sorry."

Harry just nodded, so the Headmaster continued, "I should have seen that your requests to go shopping, to get the things you need, were dealt with in a more reasonable and timely fashion. And I should not have sent Remus Lupin to speak with you – I should have come myself."

"I am well and truly sorry, Harry."

Harry looked down for a minute, composing his thoughts, and sighed deeply. When he looked up, he fixed on the Headmaster's eyes, and saw none of the twinkle there, and believed him.

"I believe you, sir, and I accept your apology. I know I am quite a bother – and not one that you have taken on willingly."

Dumbledore started to respond, but Harry overrode him by continuing, "But, by the same token, I can't just forget that I have some needs, too. That I ought to have some rights – like getting decent clothing, or having someone to talk to. It may not be fair that you have to worry about me – and I am sorry that you do – but I can't and won't let you just lock me up in a prison."

"I won't tolerate it. Not anymore."

Harry sat back, and waited for Dumbledore to respond, and noticed how old he looked at that very moment.

It was Dumbledore's turn to sigh deeply. And then he said, "That is more than fair, Harry. You have needs and hopes and rights, and I shall endeavor more fervently than ever to remember them, and to act to afford you the best type of life I can. But you are wrong if you think yourself a burden. Every time I speak with you, I am reminded how much of a joy you are, and I berate myself for not treating you the way you ought to be treated. I am sorry, Harry, more than I can ever say."

Harry nodded, and said' "I already accepted your apology. It's OK."

"It is not OK, but I hope it will be. Soon."

Dumbledore freshened each of their teacups, and sipped his for a moment as they sat in silence. Finally, he said, "There is more we should discuss, Harry. First, you need school supplies, and the like, do you not?"

Harry answered in the affirmative, telling him that he had already procured his books for the coming term, but needed potions supplies, school uniforms and robes, and the like. At the end of this, he asked a question that had been niggling at him since he got his OWL scores, "Professor, I only got an "E" in Potions, but it was on my list of courses I could take. Not that I'm complaining, but did Snape change his requirements?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry. And he did not change his requirements; rather, he is no longer teaching Potions, though I must ask you to keep this to yourself. He will be teaching Defense."

Harry couldn't help but groan a little, and then answered, "Your secret is safe with me, sir. But I will refer to Snape as I see fit, here, in my own home and especially when he never shows me any respect or even civility."

Dumbledore surprised Harry by accepting his remonstrance, though he did look a little sad. And then he brought up Harry's last visit with Snape and Molly Weasley, "There is another matter, Harry. Your last interactions with Professor Snape and Mrs. Weasley were not entirely satisfactory.

Harry did his best to hold his temper, and mostly succeeded. He clenched his fists, and stood, pacing to the far end of the room before walking back and facing Dumbledore again. "I don't know what you heard on either account, sir, but I don't think I behaved badly after being provoked."

"Mrs. Weasley just showed up, and thought she could order me around. When I said I was leaving, she pulled her wand on me! What right does she have?!"

"And Snape! He's vile. He's been rude and cruel since my first day in class. Why is it his business where I go or what I do, much less to the point where he can come here – its _my house_ after all – and attack me?!"

Harry sat again, panting a bit from his short tirade. Dumbledore spoke, softly, "It is their business, Harry, because they are all trying to protect you."

But Harry just shook his head, "NO! If they were here – if they took any part in my life – then maybe they would have that right. They are not my parents, or my guardians, or anything. They obviously don't want any real responsibility for me, as they haven't said one word to me all summer. They gave up that right – all of your precious Order did – when they left me alone all summer."

And then Harry said the words that cut right to Dumbledore's heart: "Just like Remus did when he decided to ignore me before Hogwarts, and then again when he could have been my friend in third year, and again after Sirius was killed. And just like you did – when you abandoned me with the Dursleys, and again in fifth year, and again this summer."

"I want and need your help, sir, and I will listen and try to work with you. But, as no one has ever accepted _responsibility_ for me, much less showed that they really care for me, I don't see what right any of you have to try to tell me what to do or to control my life."

Harry settled back into his chair and didn't quite glare at his professor. Dumbledore studied his hands for more than a minute before answering, "What would you have us do, then, Harry? What would you have me do?" When he looked up, Harry could not help but notice the track of a single tear down the old man's cheek.

Harry took a deep breath, and spoke quietly and calmly, but with passion, "Help me. I need you, and the others, and I know it. I don't hate any of you – especially not you, sir. I want to work with you, I need your help and your advice, and maybe even your friendship if you will offer it. The fact that I won't let you control me doesn't mean that I won't listen or that I won't be greatly swayed by what you say and ask. I just can't let anyone control me."

"Very well, Harry. I will do my best to assist you, to offer comfort and advice as best I can. And I hope you will consider me to be worthy of your friendship, although I must admit that at this time I do not feel worthy of it."

"Do you recall, Harry, when we met that lad in the Weasley twin's shop?"

Harry had no idea where this was leading, but nodded his head, wondering at the change in topic.

"You introduced me then as your friend, and even called me 'Albus.' I would be honored, and greatly pleased, if you would call me by my given name, Harry."

Harry was more than a little surprised, but felt he couldn't refuse such a simple request. "Alright, Albus," he said, trying it on for size and feeling quite odd doing so.

Dumbledore seemed pleased, though, if one were to judge by the smile on is face and the returned twinkle in his eye.

Their conversation continued more easily after that. Dumbledore told Harry that he had spoken with McGonagall, and confirmed Harry could, in fact, sit a NEWT exam even if he didn't take the course, and was quite surprised when Harry told him he had made great progress with Arithmancy over the summer. He was impressed with Harry's progress in Occlumency but didn't test him on it. And he agreed he would arrange a trip for Harry to Diagon Alley to get the rest of what he needed on the twentieth of August.

At last, Dumbledore took his leave, and Harry returned to his book.

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger continued their exploration of their new relationship through letters and visits over the next several days. Ron's anger with Harry calmed somewhat, but he remained unhappy with his friend's words and actions towards his mother. He couldn't understand the fight Harry had apparently had with Lupin, and he was both jealous and annoyed over Harry's gift to Ginny; he thought it too much and also inappropriate, and wondered (and even worried) that Harry might fancy his younger sister. He was not at all in favor of Harry and Ginny getting together – not only because of the danger of her getting close to Harry, but because of Harry's mood swings that seemed only to be getting more extreme and even violent. He read but did not respond to the letter Harry had written him.

Hermione was scandalized by Harry's treatment of Mrs. Weasley, Professor Snape and Remus Lupin. Whilst she might make allowance for one or even two of these blow ups, she thought he had gone off the deep end. His response to her first letter had been infuriating, and his decision to not respond to the other three letters she sent him had worked her into a tizzy.

It did not help that Hermione thought Ron was unreasonable in his jealousy of Harry and Ginny, and didn't fail to "mention" it whenever anything close to the topic came up. By unspoken mutual consent, Ron and Hermione soon decided that Harry Potter was not a topic for conversation over the remainder of the summer.

Molly did, eventually, calm down about the "incident." She was helped well along her way by a conversation she and Arthur had with Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin. She had not understood the magnitude of the torture inflicted on Harry until it was explained in sufficient detail to turn her stomach. When it was pointed out that she was the first person since his kidnapping to draw her wand on Harry, and that until then Harry had seen little of anyone and had most likely felt abandoned by everyone, she felt a little corner of her formerly frozen heart (as far as Harry was concerned) melt.

She was confused and ambivalent about what to think and do with or about Harry once again.

Ginny Weasley spent some time with Dean over the next many days, and wrote a few letters. She enjoyed the visits, and learned a little about the "football" games Dean loved so much. She also observed her mother's softened attitude toward Harry, going so far as to ask her father about it. He told her she understood better what Harry had been through and so accepted why he had said the things he did, but refused to get further into it with her.

Ginny was more than a little annoyed with both her brother (which was not unusual) and Hermione (which was) over their attitude toward Harry, but didn't see that there was anything she could do about it. She traded another round of letters with Harry, telling him what was going on at the Burrow (including with her brother and friend); he responded by telling her he understood what was going on, and thanking her for thinking about him.

Harry told her how he occupied his time with exercise and study, and she couldn't help but notice that what he didn't describe was any interaction he had with others; she correctly assumed that it was because there really wasn't any. She couldn't help but be sad over that fact, and the generally sad tone of the letter he wrote, even though she was sure he wasn't aware of it. Her resolve to be his friend, and to help him in a way that no one else was, grew during that time.

On the twentieth, Remus Lupin and Tonks arrived early in the morning. Harry was just finishing his running up and down the stairs, so he hurried through his shower and dressed to have breakfast with the two of them.

Conversation during the meal was somewhat strained despite Tonks' best efforts to interject some humor into it. When they finished eating, she stood, looked at Remus and said simply, "Talk to him!" She turned and left the two of them alone in the kitchen.

Remus seemed to gather himself up for the conversation, and then looked Harry in the eye. He said, "I'm sorry, Harry," and Harry believed him.

"I am, too."

"No, Harry, you shouldn't be. What you said was true, and I needed to hear it. I let your father and mother and Sirius down – but more importantly, I let you down."

Remus continued, "I knew you as a baby, Harry. I held you and fed you and even changed your dirty nappy. I didn't, and don't, ever expect to have children, Harry, because of my condition. But I loved you and thought of you as a part of my family, and that makes everything I've done all the more terrible."

"I knew the Ministry wouldn't let me take care of you, and that Dumbledore placed you with your family. I didn't see any place for myself in your life, and so I gave up. And when I could have come back into your life, I made excuses because I was afraid you would reject me."

Harry felt he had to say it: "But I wouldn't!"

And Remus acknowledged that. "Yes, I know that now and have for a while. I know I can't replace Sirius but I can't even understand for myself why I didn't seek you out this summer. You are a fine young man Harry, and my absence from your life has hurt me more than it has you. If you are willing to give me another chance, I promise that I will do better."

Remus had a hopeful look on his face, and Harry found that he wanted that – he wanted Remus in his life as a friend. Harry reached across the table to shake Remus' hand, and when Remus met his hand, Harry tugged and gave him a one-armed (and very awkward) hug that started the two men on a new and fresh road.

This time he didn't take the floo to the twins' shop; he explained to Remus and Tonks that he was not certain of his reception after his argument with their mother. Instead, they took a Taxi to the Leaky Cauldron and entered the Alley through the archway behind it.

Harry still had a lot of his money and didn't need to stop at Gringotts. Instead, they gathered potions ingredients, owl treats and writing supplies before finally going to Madame Malkin's, where Harry bought the robes and uniforms he would need for school, as well as dress robes and a cloak that would fit him, and a few select other items he needed or wanted to outfit himself for the school year.

Through it all, people looked and pointed and whispered, and many came up to speak with him or shake his hand. When a couple of reporters came up, he told them simply that he was shopping for school and didn't have anything else to say, although when pressed he did wish Madame Bones luck in her new position.

At last, time came for the visit he dreaded. He didn't know if Fred and George hated him by now, but also didn't feel comfortable not at least trying to see them while he was at the Alley.

He found that he needn't have worried. The two greeted him like long-lost family, and when he asked whether they weren't bothered by his words with their mother, they pointed out that they had moved out to the flat over their shop because, as they put it, they "didn't have the balls to stand up to her the way he had." He was most certain, though, that everything was OK when they all sat down to tea and his teacup bit him on the nose, causing him to spill the cupful of thankfully tepid liquid in his lap.

He laughed almost as hard as Tonks did, and was very happy to see the smile on Remus' face as well.

The twins remarked that it was too bad he had come so early, since the rest of the family and Hermione were supposed to do their shopping on the twenty-sixth; Harry allowed as how he wasn't sure that would work out so well.

When the two commented that Ginny at least would be very happy to see him (and hug and kiss him hello), he only blushed a little, but got them back when he told them how much he would look forward to that.

Harry and Tonks and Remus left the shop and the Alley shortly after.

On the evening of the twenty-third, Harry thought he would see what he might do with his Animagus transformation. He knew what he would be, he had gained proficiency in both wandless and soundless magic, and he knew from experience he could summon the focus needed.

He had come to understand why people who mastered the transformation were rare and why it supposedly took so long to learn the whole process. Other people had friends and family and lives of their own, and so the time for meditation and the very rare and specific magic was harder to find. Luckily, Harry had none of those distractions.

Harry settled himself in his room, the windows open to admit a gentle breeze. The elves had been asked to give him privacy, and Hedwig was on her perch observing him curiously. Harry calmed himself and gathered his magic around himself, feeling it as a living thing. He focused on his form, feeling the shape and wings and feel of flying that he experienced in his own mind-place.

He felt himself shrink and stretch – it was not painful, but strange. And then it was done, and he felt his wings and talons as he sat wobbly on his bed. Under a pile of clothing; apparently, he had forgotten to envision them changing with him, and had left himself bundled in a pile of what he had just been wearing. He flapped and shrugged, as much as an owl can shrug, and freed himself, before awkwardly winging himself into the bathroom and in front of a mirror. What he saw was a soft, grey owl with a few rumpled feathers above one of the two bright green eyes that stared back at him in the mirror.

If he could have smiled, he would have.

So, he flew out the window, Hedwig in his wake, and up into the sky. His mindscape became reality as he and Hedwig dove and swooped and then flapped their wings hard to gain altitude and speed. Finally, tired, they landed on the branches of a tree on the Mall in St. James Park. As they sat, Harry felt very tired and he felt himself unwillingly slide back into human form, where he found himself sitting starkers in a tree in the dark looking down the Mall at Buckingham Palace.

He really didn't notice the couple snogging while lying on the grass below until the woman looked up and saw him in the tree. The scream, however, caught his attention, as it did the woman's boyfriend. He twisted, dumping her over while looking around rather than up and distracting the girl for a while. Harry pushed his magic hard and disapparated soundlessly, reappearing in his room, where he couldn't help but laugh outrageously.

Hedwig forgave him for abandoning her after a few less than playful nips and several owl treats.

On the twenty-sixth of August, Molly Weasley found herself escorting her youngest son and only daughter out of the Leaky Cauldron and toward the bookshop, where they were to meet Hermione and her parents.

Harry had learned to hold his transformation better and had gotten familiar with transforming with his clothing. He had flown early that morning to Diagon Alley and roosted at the top of a tall building, where he could watch for the arrival of the Weasley's.

Harry watched from afar as Mrs. Weasley and her children came down te Alley and disappeared into the bookshop. He saw them as they left and followed their progress throughout the day; he even saw Ginny as she greeted Dean Thomas, and followed the two couples and their parents wander about the Alley.

Through it all, he wished he wasn't there at all because it made him so sad that he wasn't there with them. And he wished he was down on the ground, walking and joking and laughing with them, as he might have done in the past, as if he actually had a real life all his own.

And he realized that, most of all, he wished it was him and not Dean that was holding Ginny's hand and walking with her on this glorious summer day.


End file.
